A Time for Healing
by KaliShu
Summary: After leaving the farm and while the group is searching for a new safe place, Daryl crashes his bike while avoiding a little girl standing alone and alive in the middle of the road.  Gen, shameless Daryl whump.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N (updated 2-10-2013):** This was originally written as a fill for the twd kinkmeme asking for Daryl whump. Loving Daryl whump, I happily complied. This is the result – shameless Daryl h/c, written way back in April 2012. Rated for language and violence. Gen/cannon pairings and eventual spoilers for 2.12. Since it's so old, I have to say that it's definitely AU after 2.12 and doesn't take anything in season 3 into account. The premise of this story is that the group saw the walker invasion coming and everyone left the farm before the events of 2.13 rather than trying to make a last stand - thus *SPOILERS FOR 2.13* Jimmy and Patricia are still alive and Andrea is still with the group. *END SPOILERS* For my readers new and old - many apologies for the long, long time between updates. Thank you all so much for the favorites, follows, and reviews - you've helped me look forward to coming back to this story after what turned out to be an insanely busy summer and fall!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except the DVDs.

**A Time for Healing**

**Ch. 1**

Daryl realized the little girl on the road wasn't a walker when she opened her mouth and screamed, her voice high and desperate and her eyes wide. He'd never heard a Walker do that before, and now that he was practically on top of her he could see her skin looked healthy and alive and her terrified eyes were free of that glazed-over dead stare. Time slowed in that instant, as he slammed on the bike's brakes and twisted as hard as he could, desperately trying to avoid the girl. There was the screech of metal on asphalt, as the world went sideways and sparks flew through the air above him. Pain flared in his shoulder, on his hip, as he felt himself sliding and then he came to an abrupt halt with enough force that the world went white around the edges as he struggled desperately to breath.

When he came back to himself, the first thing he became aware of was the pain. He was lying on his side, his head resting on the curve of his arm. His chest burned with every breath and it was all he could do to keep breathing in shallow pants that brought the black dots back to his vision. His side and leg felt raw, his head pounding. The second thing he noticed was the commotion going on around him. People calling his name and behind that, the high pitched wailing of a girl sobbing. It made his head throb even harder and he tried to tell everyone to just shut the hell up, but it came out as a moan instead.

The light burned his eyes, and he pinched them closed against the intrusion. Heard a feminine gasp from somewhere over his head, and a muted "Oh god."

He forced his eyes back open, blinking against the light and the pain in his head.

"Daryl?" Hands on his face, holding him still, and Rick's face wove in and out of his vision. He could still hear the ragged sobs of the little girl.

"Sophia?" he mumbled, trying to turn and look. Pain flared in his chest at even that tiny motion, and Rick tightened his grip, shifting so he held Daryl's head tighter.

"Don't move," Rick ordered. "Sophia isn't here, remember. Do you know where you are? What happened?"

Daryl turned away, the noise and the movement too much. Over it all he could hear Sophia crying. Merle sat on his legs, leaning against his chest so he couldn't breathe. Taunting him. "What the fuck is this? You pussying out like a damn girl, little bro? Always knew you didn't have it in ya. Go on, open them eyes if your man enough." But Sophia was dead and Merle was gone, Daryl realized with a start, and he smelled hot metal and the voice that was talking didn't belong to his older brother.

"Daryl, open your eyes. Look at me Daryl." Rick still held his head steady, shifting so he was leaning over Daryl from above. "Good, that's good," he said when Daryl blinked open his eyes and found himself staring up at Rick's face. "Hershel," he yelled back over his shoulder. "We need your help over here!"

T-Dog suddenly entered his line of vision. "Hershel's on his way," T-Dog said. "He's grabbing the first aid kit. Should we move this bike off him?"

"Shit," Daryl gasped, trying to look at the damage. Rick held his head firmly in place and the rest of him didn't seem to be doing a good job of moving on its own. "Merle's bike."

To his surprise, T-Dog dropped down beside him and clasped a hand gently on his shoulder. "Don't worry about the bike. You hurting?"

Daryl grunted, half denial, half protest that these people kept touching him unwelcomed and then Hershel was there, squeezing in between Rick and T-Dog. Daryl tried to recoil, feeling boxed in and trapped, three people hovering over him and him on the ground. His body jerked backwards reflexively, and the pain in his chest nearly blinded him. Hershel said something, but he couldn't hear it beyond the roaring in his ears and the desperate need to breathe shallow and fast in order to control the pain.

"Easy, easy," Hershel was saying when the pain subsided enough for Daryl to focus again. The older man moved slowly and deliberately as he knelt down in front of Daryl. "I'm going to touch your neck to check your pulse now. Let me know if anything hurts you, son." He slowly reached out a hand to Daryl's neck and Daryl swallowed down the panic that was starting to build.

"Let me go," he ordered Rick, though he didn't struggle, not wanting that agony to return.

It was Hershel who answered, his voice that same maddening calm cadence that Daryl associated with wounded animals and frightened livestock. "Just relax. We'll let you up as soon as we know you're not hurt too badly. You're breathing pretty fast there, son. Can you tell me why?"

"Hurts," Daryl gritted out. "Chest on the… left side…"

Hershel's face was pinched in concern and he laid a light hand on Daryl's exposed side. "What does it feel like?" he asked. "A crushing pain or a sharp pain?"

"Sharp," Daryl gasped. "Son of a bitch…"

"Easy, son." Hershel's hand was on his shoulder and Rick still gripped his head tightly, but it was all Daryl could do to keep himself still in the face of the agony that ran through him.

"…nk you can answer a few questions for me?" Hershel's voice was still gentle and even, but Daryl found himself lost nonetheless.

"What?" he managed, forcing the pain down, into the background. Years of experience helped him, and the pain complied, though reluctantly. What was left was a dull noise, ignorable for now, though it threatened to spill over if Daryl let it.

"Do you remember what happened?" Hershel's voice was an anchor to which Daryl attached himself, regardless of the answer. It was a few moments before he realized he was supposed to supply the answers himself. "Sophia," he murmered, thinking of the stark blonde hair and the thin frame he'd swerved to avoid. No, it was a girl he'd avoided, but not Sophia.

The thought had him alert again, his eyes snapped open even as he tried to move against Rick's hold. "The girl," he gasped. "She alright?"

"She's just fine," Rick said, even as Hershel nodded his consent. "Just a bit shook up is all. You did a real good job of avoiding her."

"Rick's right," Hershel agreed. "She's just shook up and a bit overwhelmed. Seems she's been on her own a while. We're more worried about you at this point. You have any pain besides that in your chest?"

Daryl considered lying, then remembered that this was the damn zombie apocalypse and decided that he was better off telling the truth. Either they fixed him up and he survived this, or they threatened to leave him for dead and he'd figure out a way to end it here and now, rather than be walker bait.

"Hurts to breathe," he said again. "And my side feels like it's been ground up for sausage. Think… think Merle's bike is cutting off the blood in my left leg. Can't feel nothing there."

"We'll get that bike up off of you in a minute son." Hershel shifted so that he was closer to Daryl. "Just keep breathing as best you can and let me know if it gets harder or feels different. I'm going to check your back, make sure you haven't damaged it. Let me know if anything hurts."

Daryl concentrated on breathing, ignoring the hands on his back that made him want to twitch away and the way Hershel leaned over him, blocking him in, which made him just want to run. The little girl had quit her sobbing and the commotion around him had died down, but Daryl could see them gathered around behind Hershel's silhouette. Could see them staring down at him, trapped beneath the weight of his bike and the pain in his chest. It made him want to hide away somewhere they couldn't see him laid out like this, unable to get up or move, unable to even breathe. "The fuck they staring at?"

He didn't realize he'd spoken the thought aloud until he felt Rick stiffen and look over at the small crowd.

"We're not moving for awhile," Rick told them, his voice loud and full of authority. "Plenty of abandoned cars around here. Why don't you all scavenge through them and see what you can find. Take some gas if there's any left." It wasn't a request.

Hershel nodded down at Daryl as he finished his examination. "No pain? Good, looks like your back made out alright, at least." He eyed the bike lying on top of Daryl's leg with a frown. "T-Dog, could you help me get this machine off him?"

When they pulled Merle's bike off of him, it hurt. Pins and needles began running up and down his leg as the blood rushed back in. And then he felt it, a searing, throbbing pain in his leg. "Fuck," he gasped, trying to look down at it until a sharp pang in his already aching chest brought him up short.

He tried to jerk his leg away as Hershel pressed down on it, but the old man held him still with surprising strength. "The hell you doing old man?" Daryl shouted. Or tried to. It sounded weak and shaky even to his own ears, and ended with a gasp as the effort tore at his chest again.

"You've got a deep cut on your leg. We've got to get the bleeding stopped." Hershel pressed down again and Daryl couldn't help but yell, kicking out with his good leg and trying to move away before Rick and the stabbing in his chest stilled him.

"Daryl?" Rick was leaning over him again, patting his cheek lightly. "You still with me? Stay with me now."

Daryl ignored him, trying to get enough air with the shallow, panting breaths that seemed to be all he could manage. The pain in his leg was distant now, the world gray around the edges, and he needed to breath but couldn't. He needed… "Need to sit up," he gasped.

Hershel looked up from where he was working. "Let him. Might help him breath."

"Okay, let's get you up," Rick said, shifting so he was just out of Daryl's line of sight. Strong hands moved under his armpits. "Let me know if this hurts you."

Daryl tried to help, but each movement was agony and he couldn't help but grunt when he moved the arm that had been on the ground. He tried to push with his good hand, but Rick did most of the work and suddenly he was leaning back against Rick, panting at the pain of the movement but also, finally, at last able to breathe if not deeply, enough to drive the dark edge of his vision away.

"Motherfucker," he cursed once he caught his breath and gathered the nerve to look down at his leg. Hershel was still adding bandages to it, pressing down as the red stain started to seep its way through the white padding. The side of his leg that had slid across the ground was a mess of shredded denim, ragged skin and blood. His arm looked no better. A swell of nausea rolled through him at the sight, and he cursed himself for being a pussy even as he looked away.

He curled his arm protectively against his chest and breathed as best he could through the rolling in his gut.

"Hold this here," he heard Hershel say. "Add more bandages if it keeps on soaking through." The pressure on his leg lessened, then the pain, which had reached a point where, while it still hurt, didn't consume his entire existence, flared up again as the pressure returned but harder. He must have made some sort of sound because he felt T-Dog pat his thigh with a surprisingly sincere "Sorry, man," and wasn't this just the most humiliating day of his life when all these people got to see him sniveling like a little girl.

Hershel knelt down in front of him, his face grave. "Still hard to breathe?" he asked.

"Better now," Daryl mumbled, looking away.

Hershel moved his gaze to where Daryl held his arm tight against his chest. "This where it hurts?" he asked, tapping Daryl's arm lightly. When Daryl nodded, he continued. "Now, I'm gonna have to look at it. And I've got to cut this shirt off of you to do that."

Daryl nodded again, and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. The fall air was cold against his skin when Hershel unbuttoned what was left of his vest and denim shirt, and cut up the front of the wifebeater he wore underneath. Daryl tensed when Heshel grabbed his arm, but he only moved it down to rest on the ground and Daryl didn't fight it, even though it made his chest ache that much more.

"Hm." The noise Hershel made as he examined Daryl's chest was low and concerned, and had Daryl opening his eyes to peer blearily at the man.

"What is it?" Rick sounded worried, but then he always sounded worried these days.

Hershel took a deep breath before he replied. "His chest isn't moving right. Definitely some broken ribs are out of place. Maybe even a flail chest. Lots of complications can come from that. We'll have to keep a good eye on him, make sure he's not getting any worse." Cold fingers traced along his ribcage below the agony that was his upper chest. "Don't feel anything else out of place."

"M'right here you know," Daryl growled, or tried to. "You gonna be putting your hands all over me, least you could do is talk to me insteada over me." But even Daryl could tell he didn't sound the least bit threatening as he paused for breath every other word. In fact, he sounded rather pathetic.

Hershel fixed him with a look he couldn't be bothered to interpret. His head ached and it hurt to breathe, and his leg was throbbing and fuck, but if he hadn't seriously screwed himself this time. He was a fucking liability and they'd probably just pack up and leave him like they did Merle and how the hell could he take care of himself when he couldn't even breathe?

"Hey there, just relax. Take slow breaths. Deep as you can." He didn't even realize he'd been on the verge of hyperventilating until Hershel's calm words washed over him. He hated the fact that he relaxed into them, back against Rick, like some dumb farm animal, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, he couldn't do much else right at the moment.

"We should move you on into the RV," Hershel said, standing and looking down at Daryl. "Don't think it'll hurt to move you, and there'll be more light there." He glanced nervously around at the darkening highway, at the shadows in the woods beyond the concrete barriers. "Plus then if we need to get away quickly, we can."

Daryl shook back the cobwebs crowding his head. "Can move on my own," he protested, struggling to sit up and away from Rick. He made it, but barely, and had to throw out his good arm to catch himself before he fell back, the other cradled protectively around his side. He wavered, lightheaded, his arm shaking as it tried to support a body that weighed twice what it should.

"Easy, son," Hershel warned, catching Daryl by the shoulder. "You've lost a lot of blood and probably have a concussion. Don't want you to get up too fast." He glanced over at T-Dog, who was still holding the bandages on Daryl's leg in place. "How's that looking?"

T-Dog shrugged. "It's not seeping through anymore."

"That's a start, at least." Hershel sighed and patted Daryl on the shoulder as he stood and moved beside T-Dog. "Let's get a pressure bandage around it so we can move him."

Rick had moved up close behind him again, and the pain in Daryl's leg as Hershel and T-Dog worked on it stole the strength from his arms. "Just relax, I got you," Rick said, and Daryl had no choice but to obey. He drifted, focusing on breathing to forget about the other pains, as he rested against Rick's shoulder. Snatches of conversation washed over him. Rick murmuring something to Lori, Andrea saying she'd found a few more guns in a truck up the road, Carol asking after him and laying a cool hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw the little blonde girl staring at him from beside the RV, sucking on her thumb, the other hand clutching the purple backpack she wore. The way she stared at him, eyes wide and terrified, unnerved him and he turned away, listening to his heart beat a fast rhythm in his ears as the adrenaline started to fade and his body began to protest even more than it already had been. He lost himself in the rhythm of his heartbeat, the shallow breaths, the rhythmic throb of pain.

"I think we're ready," Hershel announced, checking the bandage one more time before standing. It startled Daryl out of his haze, brought his focus back to what was going on around him, and he called himself a damn fool for letting himself drift off as he had. "Rick, T-Dog, help him up slowly. Let's get him on his feet."

Daryl struggled upright again, tried to tell them again to just leave him alone, that he didn't need any help, but T-Dog and Rick stepped in beside him anyways and hooked a hand under each armpit. His breath hitched as he leaned forward, chest screaming at him. He pulled his good leg up underneath him and would have been screwed save for the hands under his shoulders as soon as he started to stand. The world spun around him sickeningly and he felt his knees buckle before the grips on his arms tightened and the world exploded in pain, centered in his chest.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ***checks the (very short) list of things I own* Nope, still not mine. Darn.

**A/N: **Thank you to those who reviewed - I'm glad there's other Daryl whumpers out there in this wide world! Not as much Daryl in this part, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Just FYI - I had this mostly written when I posted chapter 1, so don't expect updates this fast all the time :)

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><p><strong>Ch. 2:<strong>

Rick grabbed for Daryl's arm as the other man's knees gave way and he slumped in their loose hold. He grimaced as his hand met the shredded flesh of Daryl's shoulder, but he held on. The last thing Daryl needed was to be dumped on the ground again.

"Damn," Hershel cursed, and Rick nearly lost his grip in his surprise at hearing something that strong come out of the normally conservative farmer's mouth. "This would've been a lot easier if he was moving under his own power. We're going to need more people if we have to carry him. I'd like to keep his chest as still as possible until I have a chance to look at it better and bind it up if we can."

Rick and T-Dog lowered Daryl gently back to the ground and went to gather some help while Hershel leaned over his patient, a worried frown tugging down the corners of his mouth as he checked Daryl's pulse.

By the time Rick and T-Dog returned with Glenn, Jimmy, Andrea, and Carol in tow, Hershel had propped Daryl's legs up on an abandoned backpack he'd pulled out of the nearest vehicle and Daryl had begun to stir weekly.

"Rest easy, there," Hershel cautioned Daryl, putting a hand to his shoulder to keep him still. "We'll get you off the ground in a minute. We're going to have to carry you – just relax and let us do it." It was a testament to how groggy Daryl still was that he didn't even protest.

"How we going to do this?" Rick asked, stepping forward.

Hershel grimaced, looking critically at Daryl and then over his shoulder at the RV. "Let's figure something out before it gets much darker."

As it turned out, there was no way to easily get Daryl though the narrow RV door while they were carrying him, so it was a good thing he'd woken up after all. It was an awkward process, and obviously painful, but the only other option they could think of was to bust out the emergency exit window and hand him in through that. Daryl slowly came back to awareness as they discussed how best to move him, and finally put the matter to rest himself. "Ain't no one handing me through nothing," he'd grumbled, and Rick couldn't help but agree. There was no way their small group would have enough man power to lift a fully grown man up and through a window without jostling him more than necessary.

Hershel made them help Daryl up more slowly this time, first bringing him to his knees and making him rest there awhile before pulling him up to his feet. Daryl's eyes rolled back in his head and his face lost all its color and for a moment Rick feared they might have a repeat of their first attempt, but Daryl held strong and managed to get himself somewhat straight, leaning heavily against T-Dog as he avoided putting any weight on the injured leg.

"This isn't going to be easy," Hershel warned, and Daryl nodded and swallowed, and focused his eyes on the ground in front of him as he took tiny, limping steps, leaning heavily against T-Dog who had thrown his good arm around his shoulder while Rick tried to help as much as possible without jarring Daryl's bad side again.

The two steps up into the RV were an insurmountable obstacle that Daryl could do no more than glare blearily at, until Rick nodded his head and said, "Let's get him sitting down on the floor and we'll get him back up inside the trailer."

They did just that. Lori hurried forward and retracted the RV steps and Rick turned over his position to Glenn before climbing up inside the RV. Together, T-Dog and Glenn maneuvered Daryl so he was sitting in the doorway of the RV, feet resting on the ground outside. They paused a moment as Daryl leaned forward, arm curled around his bad side, breathing fast and shallow and his face pinched in pain.

Rick clasped a hand on the other man's shoulder, could feel the fine tremors that shook his frame. "Easy, man. Just let us know when you're ready."

After a long few minutes, Daryl straightened as much as he could and nodded. Rick hooked his arms under Daryl's armpits and slid him back on the linoleum floor while T-Dog lifted his legs and made sure they didn't catch on the lip of the RV. Once Daryl was fully inside, T-Dog climbed in as well and together they got him back on his feet and maneuvered him through the narrow hallway to the bunk beds.

Daryl settled back into the pillows Lori had gathered with a groan. There was a sheen of cool sweat coating his face and he still cradled his side protectively. His breathing hadn't slowed any and, if anything, was faster as Hershel squeezed into the room behind Rick and T-Dog.

Rick saw the look of panic that entered Daryl's eyes at Hershel's presence in the room. It was pretty crowded in here, barely room for the three of them to stand, and Daryl had never seemed to be one for crowds on the best of days. T-Dog must have seen it too as he stepped back out into the narrow hallway. "I'll go keep watch up on top of the RV," he volunteered. "Make sure there's nothing out there. Give me a holler if you need any help down here."

Rick nodded. "Take Andrea with you. We don't know what's out here. Don't want any surprises. If anything comes, kill it quietly if you can."

"Just be sure to keep the blinds closed," T-Dog cautioned. "I know ya'll need light in here, but let's try to keep it as low as possible. Also, keep a watch on the battery. Make sure the generator doesn't kick on."

"Good advice," Rick agreed, reaching across Daryl to pull the shades down. Under the trailer's fluorescent lights, Daryl looked even worse than he had outside. His face was pale and colorless, his eyes dull. Rick had the sudden, terrifying feeling in his belly that they were about to lose someone else.

"What can I do?" he asked Hershel, who had sunk to his knees beside Daryl and was monitoring the other man's heart and breathing.

"Gather up some more pillows, lift his legs up about 10 inches," Hershel answered, not looking up from his patient. "He's going into shock. Hopefully getting his feet up will be enough to help him. Check the bandage on his leg. If there's any bleeding coming through, put pressure on it. If not, the best thing you can do for now is to get out of the way and send Patricia in here to start debriding these abrasions. I'll let you know if we need more help."

Rick did as he was told, pilfering a spare sleeping bag and a few blankets out of the closet and getting Daryl's legs up as high as he could. Daryl groaned in protest as Rick lifted the injured leg, but otherwise was still, his eyelids fluttering as though it was taking all he had to keep them open and his head lolling drunkenly against the pillow, fighting sleep. Rick wondered briefly why Daryl didn't just give in and let sleep claim him, get away from Hershel's obviously painful examination, but then again as short a time as he'd known the man he'd never seen him take the easy way out. The bandage over the cut in Daryl's leg was still clean, so Rick patted Daryl on his good leg and told him to hang in there before he wandered out into the main part of the RV to let Hershel work in peace.

The rest of their group, minus Andrea and T-Dog, were gathered around the living area of the RV. Glenn and Maggie sat next to each other on the couch, Maggie curled against Glenn's side despite the fact that Glenn stared down at the floor, not paying attention to her at all. Carol sat away from them, fingers worrying at the cross on her necklace. Jimmy and Beth sat on one side of the table, silent and apart and staring out the window, as Lori hugged Carl to her on the other bench. Patricia was standing by the front seats, focusing a worried gaze on the passenger chair. She looked over when he came through the curtain, as did everyone in the trailer.

"How is he?" Lori asked, drawing Carl closer to her.

Rick shrugged. "Hershel's looking after him. He'll let us know if he needs any help." He didn't mention how bad Daryl had looked, pale and drawn against the pillows, the grim expression on Hershel's face as he worked on the man. They didn't need to know, not yet at least. Not until Hershel gave the final word on Daryl's chances. He gave Lori a quick peck on the cheek and ruffled Carl's hair as he walked by, heading towards where Patricia stood just behind the driver's seat of the RV. "Hershel's asking you back there to give him a hand. That the girl?" he asked her, needing to find something he could help with.

She nodded sadly. "Sure is, and she isn't talking to anyone. Just sitting there crying. Not sure what to do with her."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on her," Rick said, moving up in between the seats. The little girl was sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, tiny against it. She was clutching a knitted stuffed snake to her chest as she rocked back and forth. The thing was obviously home-made, rainbow colored and covered in hearts, its colors faded and yarn worn with love. Her purple backpack lay beside the seat, nearly empty. The snake must have taken up most of the room in it.

"Hey there," Rick said softly, crouching down so he was nearly eye level with her. "Can you tell me your name?"

The girl stared out the window, tears streaking down her face, not even acknowledging Rick's presence. He tried a different approach. "I know it's probably scary for you without anyone you know here, but you can trust me. I'm a police man. It's my job to help kids like you who are lost."

She still sat mutely staring out the window, and Rick sighed and retrieved a granola bar from the cupboard above the table. "You must be hungry," he guessed, crouching down between the seats again. He held out the granola bar to her. "Here, it's for you."

She gazed turned her head and looked at the granola bar warily, shooting him timid glances. He just stayed as he was, and at last she snatched it out of his hand and tore into it. It was gone in less than a minute.

He waited a few moments after she finished and at last she turned her head slowly away from the window and looked at him shyly. "You don't look like a policeman," she said after a pause, nearly too quietly for Rick to hear.

"No," Rick agreed, "I surely don't. But I have a badge and everything. Want to see?" He reached for his wallet in his jeans pocket and pulled it out slowly so as not to frighten the girl. Why he still carried his wallet, he couldn't say, but he felt incomplete without it. Maybe he just hoped someone would read his driver's license one day and remember him the way they'd remembered Wayne Dunlap, that poor soul in that department store in Atlanta. He flipped it open and showed her the deputy's badge inside.

She reached out a tentative hand and ran a finger across the shiny metal. Rick handed it over to her and she held it in her lap, staring down at it. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked again.

"Madeline," she said, her voice a little louder this time.

"Madeline. That's a really pretty name. How old are you Madeline?"

"Seven and a half," she answered proudly.

Seven and a half. Jesus. Rick ran a hand through his hair. What was she doing out here alone?

"How long have you been on your own?" She frowned, counting on her fingers, and held up a hand with four fingers raised. She didn't look Rick in the eye, and he could see her lip trembling as she struggled not to cry.

"Four hours?" he guessed, and she shook her head mutely. "Four days?" The disbelief was evident in his voice, but she nodded.

"Do you know where your parents are?" he asked, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

The girl sniffled, clutching the stuffed snake to her chest as she seemed to draw back in on herself. Her face crumbled and tears started flowing and her words were unintelligible, though Rick made out enough to put the pieces together. "Run," and "screaming," and "eating mommy," and he couldn't blame her for her tears. No kid deserved to see that, whatever it was.

Rick closed his eyes, shaking his head. It was what he'd been expecting, or at least something along those lines, but it was also what he was hoping she wouldn't say. And that she'd seen it happen… Rick could only hope Carl would never have to experience the same thing. "Were you travelling with anyone else? Anyone we can take you back to?" he asked her softly.

She shook her head mutely, turning away to bury her face against the armrest of the chair. Her back heaved under the weight of her sobs and Rick rubbed her back while she cried. After a while, the tears ran dry, though she stayed curled up against the side of the RV. She pretended to sleep, but Rick could tell she wasn't by the muted shudders that ran through her thin frame, and the hitching in her breathing when she couldn't hold the emotions back.

"How is she?" Lori had moved to stand beside Rick, but she didn't squeeze his shoulder as he knelt by the little girl, didn't give him her usual quick kiss on the cheek when he stood up to face her. She hadn't done these things since he had stumbled breathlessly into the farmhouse without Shane, Carl in his arms, warning them of the approaching walker hoard, bloody handprints on Carl's shirt where he held the boy.

"Frightened, alone…lost." Rick sighed. "She's got no one left. Saw her mom die, I think, from what I can get out of her. We have to take her in. She can sleep with us in the truck bed tonight. No matter what we say about supplies, we can't turn away a little girl."

"Of course not," Lori agreed, reaching out and smoothing the girl's short hair away from her forehead. "Poor thing." She stood for a moment beside Rick, hand on the young girl they'd just adopted into their group, before returning to her place at the table. She clutched Carl to her all the more desperately, until he wiggled his way free with an aggravated "Mom!" Still, he stayed by her side, his head resting against her shoulder, eyes fixed on the back of the seat that Madeline occupied. Rick stayed by the girl's side, scratching her back in the same way Carl had loved when he was a baby, hoping it was helping as she gave him no reaction at all.

They sat, waiting in silence for awhile, none of them daring to leave the RV in case the worst happened, all waiting for news about Daryl. It was mostly quiet in the back room, though occasionally they could hear Hershel give Patricia a brief order, or a low moan of pain from the injured man. A loud thump followed by Daryl's breathless cursing had Carol out of her seat and heading towards the back before Rick found himself moving away from Madeline, stopping Carol with a hand on her arm. "Let them work. There's not much room in there. Hershel'll call us if he needs us."

Carol shot a worried glance towards the back room but nodded and sat down again. Rick moved back to his spot on the floor by Madeline's side and they waited.

Time stretched forever and it seemed like hours later when Hershel finally stepped out into the small living space, disappearing into the small bathroom before he came out into the living quarters, wiping his hands on a clean towel.

Carol was the first on her feet, taking an anxious step towards Hershel. "How is he?" she asked, peering over Hershel's shoulder as if her eyes could see through the curtain that he'd drawn across the hallway when he left the room.

Hershel waved her back and she complied, reluctantly, still fixated on the curtain that separated the living area from the sleeping quarters. Hershel looked tired, weary, and his face grave. "It's not the worst news I could give you, but it's not the best, either," he said at last. "He's lost a lot of blood, and is in mild shock, but will likely come out of it on his own. He also seems to have a mild concussion, which I'd like to keep an eye on but don't think it will turn into anything worse. His chest… well, that's a whole different matter. He has several broken ribs and a few were slightly displaced. I can't hear any sign compromised breathing, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook. We need to keep an eye on him round the clock for the next few days. And with the limited medical supplies we have, I have no way of telling if there's any other hidden damage."

Glenn looked up from the floor. "So he'll be okay?" he asked, eyes hopeful.

"_If_ I've caught everything and _if_ he doesn't puncture a lung and _if_ he doesn't get an infection or have some other complications, he'll recover. But I just don't know. What I wouldn't give for even my vet clinic right now." Hershel sank wearily down beside Lori and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. "Patricia's still in there cleaning out the rest of those abrasions. She should be finished soon, and I'd like her to get some rest in case Daryl needs her later. We should all get some rest while we can. I'll sleep on the floor so whoever's watching Daryl can wake me if I'm needed."

The room was quiet as people processed Hershel's words. A few glances were thrown towards the back of the seat Madeline occupied, some hostile, some sympathetic. This girl could have cost them their best hunter, their best chance at survival in the winter ahead. She could have cost them one of their own, and Rick understood those hostile glares. But Rick also felt the little girl tense up when she'd heard the news. Knew that no matter how hard she tried to pretend that she was simply sleeping, she was listening and knew what was going on in their little group. "It's not your fault," he murmured, rubbing her back, and he felt her relax slightly.

"So who should take first shift with Daryl?" Glenn asked, looking around the room. "I'll do it if no-one else will, but…" he trailed off, and Rick knew exactly what he meant. He and Maggie had been alternating shifts at the wheel of the RV for the night, and tonight was Glenn's turn.

While on the road, they had decided to sleep in their vehicles, with someone in each driver's seat, so they could make a quick getaway if need be. It didn't make for the most comfortable of nights, but it had kept them safe so far and they'd already lost too many too quickly. Rick didn't know how many more deaths he could handle. But then again, maybe none would ever be as difficult as Shane's. He hoped not.

When Rick thought of night, he thought of the images he saw when he closed his eyes, of the trust in Shane's eyes just before he lowered his gun, the feel of the knife catching a rib as he drove it home, Shane's blood bubbling up through his nose and mouth as he struggled to talk. He swallowed, pushing those thoughts out of his mind. "Don't worry about it Glenn, I'll stay up with Daryl," Rick volunteered. "Don't even mind doing it the whole night. Everyone else can get a good night's rest, and I'll sleep in the morning."

Next to him, Lori frowned. "You know Carl hasn't been sleeping well. Maybe you should let someone else do it."

"I haven't exactly been sleeping well, either," Rick replied, a little harsher than he intended. Lori's eyes hardened in that same way they had that morning before he'd been shot, the last time they'd seen each other before the world went to hell and she'd asked him if he even cared, right in front of Carl. The look made him pause, and he took a deep breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look, I'm going to be awake anyway, and it's going to be pretty crowded in the back of that truck if Madeline is sleeping with us too. No use two people sitting up awake when only one has to. Carl has you there with him. He'll be fine."

Lori looked unhappy but she didn't argue further, though Rick knew he hadn't heard the last of this. She ignored Rick's "good night", instead turning to solicit Jimmy's help in carrying Madeline out to the covered truck bed they were sleeping in. Rick figured he should just be grateful she hadn't gone off on him in front of everyone.

The RVs occupants all began to file out the door, save for Glenn and Maggie. Maggie folded down the table and pulled a pillow and a blanket out of the cupboard before settling down for the night, as Glenn moved to the front seat and reclined it back as far as he could. Rick gave Carl a quick hug goodnight, and told him to keep his mom safe, before moving back into the bedroom area.

Hershel had already settled himself down on the floor of the narrow hallway, so Rick had to step carefully over him. Patricia was sitting beside Daryl's bed, shining a headlamp on his arm as she plucked at it with a pair of tweezers. Daryl was lying still against the pillows that kept him half sitting, his face a sickly yellow underneath the weak trailer lights. His legs were still propped up and he still breathed quickly and shallowly, his face pinched in pain even asleep. They'd thrown two blankets on him, one over his legs and the other wrapped around his shoulders, but he still shivered slightly. He was bare-chested under the blankets, and Rick could see padding that had been taped to his side, wrapping halfway around his chest. Already darkening bruises spread out from underneath the tape.

Patricia glanced up at Rick as he entered. "I'm almost done here," she told him.

Rick nodded. "Hershel said to get some rest when you're finished. I'll sit up with him, wake you if anything changes."

Patricia smiled wearily, dropping the tweezers onto a towel on the floor and picking up a bottle of antiseptic which she began to smooth over the ugly abrasions on Daryl's arm. "I appreciate it," she said. "Working on people… well, it's a far cry from helping out with the animals. And with so few supplies, it's exhausting work. For Daryl as well as Hershel and myself."

She began to wrap gauze lightly around Daryl's arm. "He's asleep, but he's hurting so I don't know if he'll stay that way. We've just given him Tylenol because of the concussion. There's some Oxycontin left over from Merle's bag that I'll leave with you. You'll have to wake him up and talk with him every few hours, make sure he knows where he is and what's going on. If he's still doing okay in six hours, you can give him some of that for the pain if it's bad, though it would be better if he can wait for at least twelve hours."

She finished wrapping Daryl's arm and tucked it back under the blanket. Daryl groaned and shifted, curling up around his bad side and tucking the newly-bandaged arm against the pad taped to his chest, but he didn't wake. Patricia stood with a sigh and picked up the supplies she had spread out on the floor beside her, leaving a small bottle of pills and a bottle of Gatorade behind. "Wake him up every few hours, and get him to drink if you can. Call Hershel and me if anything changes."

Rick nodded his understanding and she slid out of the small bedroom area, picking her way over Hershel's snoring form on the floor. Rick could see her as a dark shadow against the moonlit night outside. He watched her dump her bundle of supplies on the small kitchen counter before sinking down onto the couch. Her heavy breathing soon joined Hershel's and Maggie's snores.

Rick settled himself on the bed across from Daryl and turned off the overhead lights to save their battery power, switching on the portable LED lantern that hung from the ceiling instead. The chill blue light it cast on Daryl's face made the other man look even more pale and sickly, and he quickly switched the lantern off, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness instead. He sat and waited and stared at over at Daryl, and tried not to think about losing another person so soon after the tragedies at the farmhouse, about suddenly again being the only one to do the heavy lifting in the group, about not having someone he could count on to watch his back. And when that didn't work, he tried not to think at all.

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Well, this is officially AU. FYI - my head cannon for the background of this story is that everything through 2.12 happened, then Rick and Carl noticed the walkers before they were surrounded, ran to the house, and everyone hopped in their cars and drove safely away instead of trying to remember the Alamo or whatever they were doing in 2.13. Not nearly as exciting, but (almost) everyone's still alive (and they still have the RV)! Also, I totally stole Glenn's fear of needles from an excellent kinkmeme fill by an anonymous author. Okay, sorry for the long note - onto the story… thanks for reading!

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><p><strong>Ch. 3<strong>

"Daryl, hey, Daryl, I need you to wake up a minute." Someone was touching him, an unknown hand on his shoulder, and Daryl did what he always did when he found himself in an unknown place with an unknown person touching him. He took a swing.

At least he tried to. It was an aborted attempt, his weak punch easily blocked by whoever was with him, but he barely registered that around the agony that flared in his chest and head when he tried to move. He curled up around it with a groan, panting against the pain, but that only seemed to make it worse.

"Easy, easy," the hands were on him again and he jerked away from them, managing to force out a strained "get offa me" that must have been intelligible enough because suddenly the hands were gone. The agony that was his chest flared even brighter and he clenched the sheet underneath him in a tight fist and gritted his teeth and held as still as possible until he could push it back down into the back of his mind, at least enough to realize where he was and who was with him.

"Hey, you back with me?" Now that he could think of something besides the agony that was his chest, he recognized Rick's voice. He forced leaden eyelids open and found himself staring up at a dark ceiling. Other sensations began to make themselves known. His head pounded, his mouth was dry. There was an unsettling rolling in his gut. The outside of his leg and arm were on fire, and the inside of his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat, which he could hear thudding in his head, making his headache worse.

"Wish I… wasn't," Daryl groaned, and was shocked at how weak and raspy his voice sounded. Rick moved into his line of sight and Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to block out both the pain in his head and the worried look on Rick's face.

To his surprise, Rick chuckled at that, but there was little humor in it. "I don't blame you. I'll let you go back to sleep in a few minutes. You remember what happened?"

Daryl tried to sigh, but it was an aborted gesture as pain flared in his chest and he clutched his arm even tighter against his side. "Little girl… almost hit her," he recalled.

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "You missed. Why were you headed straight for her in the first place?"

Daryl thought back through the pain and the confusion that had been the accident. "Thought she… was a walker. Was gonna… run her over." It was hard to talk and breathe at the same time, and Daryl could feel sleep tugging at him, pulling him back down away from the pain. He closed his eyes, ready to let it, but Rick called his name again and patted him on his cheek until he forced his eyes back open.

"Think you can drink something?" Rick asked, and a bottle of Gatorade was shoved in front of his face. The sugary sweet scent of it made his gut clench, and Daryl shook his head no, trying to move away from that godawful smell.

It was the wrong thing to do. The room lurched sickeningly around him and he felt the tightness in the back of his throat that could only mean one thing. Despite the pain, he tried to struggle upright against the pillows, but only succeeded in knocking them out of place. He rolled over onto his bad side and it hurt, oh god it fucking hurt, but then he was heaving and somehow it hurt even worse and he only dimly registered Rick catching onto his shoulders to keep him from rolling right off the bed as he puked up thin bile and the remains of their meager breakfast onto the shag carpet.

"Hershel," Rick shouted, and the noise reverberating through his head made him heave all the harder. There was commotion around him then, more unwanted hands on him, but he could only let them steady him as his stomach tried to come out through his mouth.

At last it was over, and he hung there a minute, exhausted, his chest pulsing like he'd been stabbed. He was aware that there were tears leaking from his tightly shut eyes, sweat streaming down his face, but he was fucking freezing. He was shaking, and he couldn't tell if it was from the cold, the pain, or the exertion.

"You done?" Rick asked, his voice thick with concern in a way that made Daryl's stomach clench in a different way, something part anger because he wasn't a kid to be coddled and something part fear that he'd given Rick cause to worry, but Daryl could only nod in reply.

"Let's get him back up on the pillows, then." Not Rick's voice. Hershel, Daryl realized, suddenly recognizing the other set of hands that held him, calloused and rough but gentle.

The world went sort of techni-colored when they sat him up and for a moment all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his own pathetic thoughts begging his body to not throw up again. When he came back to himself, Rick had propped the pillows back up behind him and they were lowering him back against them. Moving hurt, and he couldn't help the sound he made as they leaned him back. It was high pitched and pathetic and embarrassing as hell, but he hurt dammit and he felt so exhausted he couldn't even sit on his own.

"He doing okay? Ya'll need anything?" Glenn's girl, and Daryl cracked open his eyes enough to see her peering over Hershel's shoulder into the tiny bedroom. He shifted uncomfortably, pulling the blanket around himself to cover his chest as best he could.

"Some water'd be good," Hershel answered. When Daryl started to protest putting anything in his stomach at the moment for fear of it making another agonizing reappearance, Hershel turned to him. "Should be easier on your stomach than the Gatorade, and we need to get some kind of fluids in you."

Rick had moved back to sit on the other bed, and Hershel moved up beside Daryl. "How're you feelin'?" Hershel asked, reaching across Daryl to pick up his good arm and taking his pulse.

Daryl scowled at the question. "How's it look like I feel?" he rasped.

Hershel shot him a mildly reproachful glare that looked like the one Daryl's teachers used to give him back in elementary school, before they had turned hostile and angry in junior high. It made Daryl snarl and try to jerk his arm out of Hershel's hold, but he was too weak to break even the old farmer's grip.

"Daryl, calm down. He's trying to help you." Rick's words were authoritative, but they sounded tired as though Rick was saying them just because he knew he should. "Just answer the question."

It was too much effort to fight right now, so Daryl answered. "Hurts," he admitted. "Worse'n before."

"That's to be expected now that your body's caught up to what happened to it," Hershel told him in that maddeningly calm voice he seemed to reserve just for Daryl and spooked horses. "Anything new hurting? Or hurting different?"

Daryl thought about that, taking a moment to catalogue the various degrees of pain that made up his body before finally shaking his head no. The movement set off the headache again and he squeezed his eyes closed as fireworks went off behind his eyelids.

When he re-opened them, Hershel was still there by the side of the bed, holding a glass in one hand. There was no sign of Maggie, and Daryl was glad. Girl didn't need to see him laid up like this.

"How's your stomach feeling?" Hershel asked, and Daryl gave a half shrug. Truth was, it had mostly settled, but Daryl didn't want to even think about setting it off again. The first time had been bad enough.

Hershel seemed to take that as a sign that Daryl's stomach was good, and made him drink the entire glass of water, steadying his hand for him when the glass shook and spilled water down his chest. It only served to make the process all the more humiliating. At last it was gone, the water rolling uncomfortably in his stomach but so far not threatening to come back up, and Daryl leaned his head back against the pillows, barely able to keep his eyes open any longer. He was aware of Rick and Hershel talking over him, of someone running a hand over the bandage on his leg, and then nothing as he drifted off into blessedly pain-free sleep.

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><p>The next time that he woke up, it was on his own and he knew something was wrong. Where before his chest had been a ball of agony and it had simply been too painful to want to breathe deeply, now something crushed his chest and he doubted he could breathe deeply even if he tried to push past the pain. He had that horrible feeling like he was on the edge of drowning, like when Merle had held his head underwater until he would stop struggling when they were kids, that feeling just like when Merle would finally let him surface of not able to get enough air even though he was breathing as fast and as deep as he could.<p>

Panic won over pride, for once. "Rick," he croaked, and hoped it was loud enough. Apparently it was, because suddenly Rick was there beside the bed, his eyes concerned.

"What is it?" Rick grabbed at Daryl's good hand as it flailed, as Daryl tried to find some purchase to get himself sitting upright, to get himself to where he could breathe again. He tightened his grip on Rick's hand, used the desperate fear of suffocating where he lay to pull himself up and forward. His whole body shook in the effort to stay sitting upright, but Rick seemed to understand his need because the other man steadied him by his shoulders as he panted for air.

"What is it?" Rick asked again.

"Can't… breathe," Daryl gasped.

Rick frowned. "Okay, just hang on." He glanced back over his shoulder, his voice loud and urgent. "Hershel, wake up. Daryl needs you."

Daryl could do little more than sit there, leaning against Rick to stay upright, and try his hardest to draw breath. Hershel took one look at him and pulled out his medical kit. He was dimly aware of Rick saying something to Hershel, but just breathing was taking all his concentration at the moment. Hershel pressed his cold stethoscope against Daryl's bare chest, and Daryl shuddered.

"Try to take a deep breath," Hershel instructed him, and Daryl was half tempted to ask Hershel what the hell he thought Daryl was trying to do, but that panic that had made him call out for Rick still gnawed at him and so he tried. It hurt, a burst of agony in his side, but he managed to draw in a bit more air than he had been with his quick, panting breaths before that crushing feeling stopped him.

Hershel just frowned, moved the stethoscope to his back, and said "Again," and Daryl tried though the effort brought little black dots to his vision.

"Hmm." Hershel's noise wasn't a happy one, and Daryl forced himself to look the old man in the eye. Hell if he'd go down without a fight, no matter how pathetic a showing it was.

It took most of Daryl's energy to sit there with his eyes open, gazing blearily at the grim expression on Hershel's face, so he was grateful when Rick asked for him. "What is it?"

Hershel frowned. "His breathing's compromised on the left side. A pneumothorax, I'd guess."

"A pneumo-what?" Daryl jerked at the new voice, his already labored breathing catching in his throat as he looked up and saw Glenn standing in the doorway, holding the curtain back with one hand.

"A punctured lung," Hershel clarified. "A minor one. If it was bad, he'd be dead already."

Daryl wished he had the breath to tell Hershel that his platitudes, or whatever the hell they were, didn't help. Instead he managed to gasp out, "What… do we… do?"

If possible, Hershel frowned even harder. "Normally you'd probably get oxygen, be admitted to a hospital, and they'd relieve the pressure if it became too bad. Most punctured lungs heal on their own as long as the air leak is minor. If we had oxygen I'd suggest we start with that. But we don't."

"So?" Rick prompted.

Hershel shrugged. "Without a CT scan it's hard to tell. But I think this is bad enough that his lung's starting to collapse. If he's having this much trouble breathing it's not a good sign. I can try to draw some air out with a hypodermic needle, but I don't have the right equipment for anything more than a minor pneumothorax. Really I don't have the right equipment at all but I think I can make do. I do have some local anesthetic, which will help me get that air out of his lung cavity, but if the tear in his lungs is big enough, my hypodermic isn't going to do much good."

"There's a town about 10 miles from here," Glenn said. "Maybe Maggie and I could go and…"

"No," Rick cut him off, eyes hard. "No one goes anywhere. We can't afford to lose anymore."

Daryl could feel Glenn's stare on him, and it made him twitchy. "What if…" Glenn started.

"Just… do what… you have to," Daryl wheezed, seeing the look in Rick's eyes. There wasn't really any other option. Hershel looked over at Rick, who nodded.

"Okay," Hershel agreed. "But just to warn you, it's not likely to be comfortable. I'll do it as fast as I can though."

Daryl felt himself slumping further against Rick, and cursed himself for his weakness even as there was little he could do about it. "Just get… it done."

"Okay," Hershel said again, as though he were bracing himself for something. "Glenn, we might need you back here in case the locals don't work like they should. Wake Patricia and get Maggie into the driver's seat." Glenn nodded his understanding and disappeared for a bit, Patricia taking his place in the small room though she stood back, watching, for the most part.

Hershel had Rick help Daryl move over so he was lying on his good side. It was harder to breathe lying there like that, but Hershel put a gentle hand on Daryl's side when he started to struggle back upright and told him to rest easy, breathe as best he could, and it would all be over soon. There were a few pricks of burning pain as Hershel injected what Daryl assumed must be the locals into his back, and in a few minutes his entire side was blessedly numb. He tried again to take a deep breath, and though the pain was finally gone, the crushing feeling still remained and brought him up short.

"Glenn, hold his legs," Hershel instructed. "I don't need him moving while I'm doing this. And Rick, keep his upper body still if you would. Patricia, see if you can find anything that we could use as a chest tube in case this is worse than I suspect."

Daryl risked a peek over his shoulder just as Hershel pulled out the biggest ass needle Daryl had ever seen, and even in his breathless, confused state, Daryl swore he'd never give Glenn shit for his fear of needles ever again because it was fucking justified.

Glenn turned a little green around the edges and backed away, eyes wide. "I… I think maybe Andrea might be better for this than me. I'll go get her." He practically ran out of the room, and Daryl might have found it funny if it weren't him about to get stuck with the thing. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it, wishing that this were all over and that he could just breathe again.

Andrea must have been standing watch because she came into the trailer almost as soon as Glenn had left. "Glenn said you needed me?" she asked, and soon Daryl found himself pinned down by Andrea and Rick, Hershel resting a steadying hand on his numb side. He pushed away his panic at being held down. i_They're trying to help you/i_, he reminded himself. It almost worked.

"I'm going to get started," Hershel announced, and it was about damned time. "Let me know if anything hurts." There was a strong pressure on Daryl's left side, as though someone were pushing their thumb extra hard into his back and it didn't hurt exactly, but neither was it comfortable. Daryl grunted, jerking a little at the feeling despite himself, and felt the hands on his shoulders and legs tighten their hold.

"Almost there," Hershel murmured, and Daryl flinched involuntarily as the needle hit a spot that wasn't quite numb. It was a weird feeling, mostly painless, but he could tell there was something foreign in him, moving separate from his flesh and bone, and it was disconcerting. Even more so than the way his ribs shifted as he flinched, because at least those belonged, and the pain from them moving, though slight thanks to Hershel's drugs, was more normal than the odd tugging numbness where Hershel was working. "Easy, easy. On the count of three, I'm going to need to you exhale and try to hold it as long as you can, alright? Nod if you think you can do that."

Daryl gritted his teeth and nodded, just wanting this to be over. Andrea patted him on the leg. "You're doing fine," she told him, and he didn't have the breath to tell her that he didn't want or need her sympathy. She returned her hands to his legs again, and Hershel counted and Daryl exhaled and tried to hold it even though his lungs were screaming at him for more air. Had been screaming at him for more air since he'd awakened, in fact.

Hershel worked quickly, which was a good thing, as Daryl could only hold his breath for a few seconds before he found himself gasping desperately. By the time he drew in that first ragged breath, he could already feel the tug as Hershel withdrew the needle. The crushing feeling in his chest was still there when he inhaled, but muted, and in combination with the pain meds that silenced the agony in his side, Daryl could almost take his first deep breath since the accident. It was such a wonderful feeling that Daryl just lay there and breathed, and it wasn't until Hershel repeated his name that Daryl realized the old man was talking to him.

"…Daryl? Can you hear me, son?"

"Yeah," Daryl breathed, lying limp on the narrow bed, the feeling of finally getting enough air making him giddy with relief, his focus drifting as his eyes fluttered shut.

"…still having trouble?" Hershel was like a dog with a bone, hounding Daryl with questions.

"Better," Daryl mumbled. It was all he could manage at the moment.

"Is it still hard to breathe?"

"Mmmph," Daryl protested, turning his head into the pillow, wanting nothing more than to drift off back into sleep at the moment, Hershel and his questions be damned.

It was Andrea who roused him, jostling his bad leg enough that the sharp twinge of pain jerked him from the edge of slumber. "Hey, the man asked you a question."

He glared at her as best he could through half-lidded eyes. She just smiled sympathetically at him. "It's better," he repeated, answering Hershel and ignoring Andrea. "Still tight, but better."

Hershel nodded. "Good, that's good. I'm going to repeat the procedure one more time. Hopefully that will release enough pressure to let your lung start to heal on its own."

It wasn't any more comfortable the second time than it had been the first, but Daryl gritted his teeth and let them hold him still and bore the uncomfortable tugging sensation in his back without comment. And when it was all done, he could breathe deeply, the pain of his lungs numbed by Hershel's drugs and the tightness in his chest removed with Hershel's needle. He even found the strength to roll himself over and lever himself up, though he sat there wavering until Andrea caught his shoulders to hold him steady while Rick rearranged the pillows behind his back so he could once again sleep somewhat sitting up. That feeling of suffocating was still fresh in his memory, and he had no desire to try to lay flat until it was a thing of the past.

He felt sleep starting to claim him again. It was annoying, not being able to stay awake for any length of time, but he didn't try to fight it. Just pulled the blankets around him as Andrea stood and patted him on the leg again before leaving, and burrowed deeper into the pillows as Hershel and Patricia began to put away their equipment. The lack of pain in his side and the freeness of his breathing was as good a lullaby as any his ma had ever sung him before she'd left, and it wasn't long before he found himself lost in restless dreams.

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><p>End notes: I like Daryl… really I do! I also apparently like to hurt him. Badly. Poor guy. This is turning out to be much longer than I thought… BAMF!Daryl will make an appearance soon, I promise! Thanks for reading, and TBC...<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I don't know about this chapter… getting into Lori's head was hard! And once I got in there (or think I did), she had so many thoughts just floating around that this chapter turned pretty introspective. I know Lori isn't a favorite around here, but still I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading and all your wonderful reviews!

Also, if you don't know what pilot bread is – google it! (seriously pilot bread and fried spam are a total guilty pleasure, and both have an insanely long shelf life, so I can imagine lots of it being eaten in the ZA)

**Disclaimer:** The Walking Dead doesn't belong to me – just borrowing it and its characters for fun and I'll return them (mostly) in one piece.

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><p><strong>A Time for Healing<strong>

**Ch. 4**

It was the warmth of the sun streaming in through the blackened windows of the pick-up's camper back that woke her.

Lori blinked in the late morning light, suddenly aware of the ache in her back from the combination of the thin sleeping pad on top of the hard pick-up bed and the life slowly growing inside of her. Carl was gone, his sleeping pad empty and cold beside hers, and she wondered how he'd snuck out without her noticing. Madeline was still curled on Rick's sleeping pad, but she didn't sleep. Her tears were muffled in the pillow she clutched to her face.

"Oh honey," Lori crooned, sitting up and gathering the girl into her arms. Madeline stiffened but didn't pull away. "You're safe. You're safe now with us." Lori could only hope that it was a partial truth.

She rocked the girl in her arms as she sobbed tears that only a child could cry, andLori wasn't sure how long they sat there like that, but after awhile Madeline's tears dried out and she simply lay in Lori's arms, staring dully at the side of the camper back. Lori shifted, laying the girl's limp body down on her sleeping pad. She stroked her cheek, and kept her voice calm as she spoke. "Hey honey, do you want to go outside? There's food out there, and people who can protect you."

Madeline shook her head mutely, so Lori tried again. "Can I bring you anything? What do you want to eat?"

Madeline just shivered and clutched her stuffed snake closer to her chest, ignoring Lori.

Lori sighed and leaned over to give the girl a kiss on the cheek before moving towards the end of the truck bed and starting to pull on her boots. "My name's Lori," she told the little girl. "If you change your mind, just come outside. I'll be around. Just call my name and I'll come find you. I'll bring you back some food, too, in case you decide to stay here." Still, there was no response, so Lori opened the tailgate of the truck and made her way out into the sunlight.

The day was warm despite the approaching winter, the sun bright and clear above her as she emerged, blinking, from the back of the pick-up bed. She knuckled her back, trying to ease the tension out of it, as she approached Maggie who was stirring a pot above a makeshift firepit in the middle of the road.

"'Bout time you woke up," Maggie greeted her. "I was just putting lunch on. You hungry? We got beans, beans, and more beans. Oh, and some mystery meat too."

Lori groaned, sinking to the ground next to Maggie. "Can't believe I slept so late. Is it really almost noon?"

"Yep," Maggie declared, far more cheerfully than she had any right to. "Sun's been up for hours, but we decided it was best to let you sleep. Figured your body knows what it needs, with the baby and all."

"What I need is to get up and help out with the chores. There's too much that needs doing for me to be lounging around in the back of a pick-up." Lori looked around their temporary camp, noticing the lack of people there. "Where is everyone?" she asked. "Carl? Rick?"

Maggie shrugged, stirring the beans with her plastic spork. "Rick's still inside with Daryl. He didn't have a good night, and Dad wants someone to stay with him around the clock for a few days. Rick volunteered, again, but he'll have to sleep sometime. Rick sent the others on another scouting trip, told them to pick up any useful supplies they could find from these cars, and to take any gas that was left. Carl wanted to go with them, so Andrea said she'd keep an eye on him. Told them I'd have lunch ready around noon so they should be back any minute now."

"Can I help with anything?" Lori asked, rubbing the lingering stiffness out of her neck.

Maggie just shook her head. "There's not much to do. We're running low on food. Lunch is just gonna be beans and spam and some pilot bread we found in one of the cars. Just sit back and relax and enjoy not cooking or doing laundry for once."

Lori settled down beside the fire. Despite the sun, the pavement was still cold from the fall night and the chill seeped through her jeans. She fidgeted, wishing there was something she could do. Sitting back and relaxing… well, it just wasn't relaxing anymore. Not when it brought to mind the past few months, everyone they'd lost, everyone they might lose. She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold, as she glanced over her shoulder with the sudden fear that a walker might be bearing down on them. There was nothing, just the gentle swaying of the trees in the slight breeze, and the circle of their vehicles parked facing outward, ready to flee at a moment's notice. No, she'd rather be doing laundry or cooking or cleaning something. Anything to keep her mind busy.

Movement to her right startled her, and she looked over to see Andrea and Carl emerging from between the stranded vehicles. Andrea was lugging a set of gas canisters that looked full. At least they were heavy enough to make the muscles on her forearms bulge as she adjusted them in her grip. And Lori knew Andrea wasn't any sort of lightweight, so that was a good sign. Carl had a large pack slung on his back, and carried a rifle in one hand and a bulging bag in the other.

Lori got up to meet them, taking the rifle out of Carl's hands before kneeling down to embrace him.

"We found food and gas," Andrea said by way of greeting. "And a rifle and some ammo. Don't think anyone's been through these cars yet."

"Thanks for looking after Carl," Lori told her, but what she really meant was _no thanks for taking my boy with you and exposing him to danger._

Andrea seemed to understand that and just nodded. "He knows how to take care of himself, these days. Almost as good with that handgun of his as I am." She set the twin gas cans down in the back of what had been Shane's green Hyundai and rolled her neck with a groan. "That lunch?" she asked, gesturing towards Maggie and the makeshift fire pit. She wandered over without waiting for an answer.

Lori sat back, looking Carl in the eye, keeping a hold of the rifle he'd scavenged.

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving this morning?" she chided.

Carl just shrugged, scuffing his feet against the cracking pavement. "Dunno. You were sleeping and Madeline was crying and it was super annoying, so I left. And then Dad told us all to go get supplies so I figured I'd help out."

Lori blinked, taken aback. "Wait, Madeline was crying and you just left? Didn't wake me or talk to her or anything?" Lori shook her head. "What were you thinking? That poor girl just lost her family."

Carl scowled and looked over at where Maggie was dishing out beans into Andrea's bowl. "Yeah, well, people die. It's what happens. She should know that by now. Can I go get something to eat? I'm hungry."

Lori found herself speechless as Carl turned away, snagging a bowl from the pile on one of the folding chairs as he approached the fire. "Oh my god," she murmured, bringing a hand to her chest. Was this the world they lived in now? Was this the world she was bringing a baby into?

Her lunch tasted like ash in her mouth, and it was all she could do to force herself to finish. For the baby.

* * *

><p>The others returned gradually, trickling in with various bags and backpacks full of goods. T-Dog had a big grin on his face. "We hit the jackpot here!" he whooped, and the others mostly agreed.<p>

"Not a lot of food, though," Glenn said grimly, shaking his head as he accepted a bowl of beans from Maggie. "Wherever these people were going, they thought they'd find food there." He gave Maggie a quick peck on the cheek before settling in around the circle forming around the fire.

"A few of us could scout on up ahead, see what's there," Maggie suggested, and Lori suddenly found the group looking at her, as if it were her call. _You're kind of like our first lady,_ she remembered Carol telling her, a few short weeks and a lifetime ago. Lori swallowed, nervously. What would Rick say?

"No," she decided. "It's too risky. Especially with the motorcycle out of commission. We need to stick together. Stick close to the cars. Who knows what's up ahead? We're weaker when we're apart."

Andrea looked like she might protest that for a minute, but she settled back down and finished her meal in silence. Glenn and Maggie exchanged a look that Lori couldn't help but notice, but didn't say anything either. Carol just nodded her head, and T-Dog made an approving sound. Beth and Jimmy just huddled together, focused on their food, not paying attention to the conversation. Hershel reached for Patricia's hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and she returned the gesture with a brief smile. Lori's gut clenched. Had she made the right decision? Or had she just resigned them all to starvation? She realized with gut twisting certainty that she didn't envy Rick his position at all.

The small meal passed in relative silence, each member of the group lost in their own thoughts. As they finished, they drifted apart back into the maze of cars, each depositing their bowl in the small basin of water Maggie had provided for washing. Lori found herself just sitting there, mulling over the decision she'd just made, questioning herself, until she looked up and everyone was gone, save for Maggie who was standing directly in front of her.

"Here." Maggie shoved two bowls of beans at her. "One for Rick and one for Daryl. I've left a little in the pot for Madeline too. Dad says Daryl probably won't want to eat, but that he should. And he said Rick should try to get some sleep, let someone else sit with Daryl for awhile."

Lori managed a weak smile. "I suppose that'd be me, then?"

Maggie just shrugged. "Everyone else is off searching the cars again, except for Dad who's up on watch and hanging around in case he's needed. We should take all we can while we're stuck here – never know what we're going to need when. I've got to clean up, but I could come relieve you in an hour or so if you want."

Lori shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. Just… keep an eye on Madeline if you could. I'll get Rick to get some sleep and sit up with Daryl for a bit." She stood, knuckling her back as it protested, and took the two bowls from Maggie. She stopped about halfway to the RV and looked back over her shoulder. "Hey Maggie? When Carol comes back, could you ask her to come see me? I'd like to talk to her."

Maggie gave her a sort of informal salute. "Yes ma'am!"

Lori wasn't sure if she was being mocked or if it was just the girl's way of saying yes. She chose the lesser of two evils and thanked Maggie before resuming her course to the RV. She juggled opening the door and carrying the two bowls of beans in her hands but managed to get inside by balancing one bowl in the crook of her arm to free up a hand.

In comparison to the crisp fall air outside, the trailer seemed stuffy and damp. The air smelled sour, like someone had been sick, and she wrinkled her nose. The smell only got stronger as she made her way to the back room where the beds were.

Rick was there, of course, sitting on the right hand bed facing the back of the trailer. His face was pale and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. He turned to face her when she entered and she was shocked by the haunted look in his eyes. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but then she thought about the blood on his hands when he'd returned to the farmhouse without Shane, and she was scared to ask.

"I brought you lunch," she said instead, thrusting one of the bowls into his empty hands. He started at it a moment as though he wasn't sure what he should do with it, before he picked up the spoon and mechanically started to eat.

"Thanks," he grunted. "Tastes good." And Lori knew he was lying because it tasted like canned beans and processed meat and nothing else, but she let it pass. It seemed he was lying a lot these days, and she still hadn't figured out when the lies were little ones and when she should call him on it. So she let them all pass, and played the dutiful wife, and hoped that someday soon the lies might stop. Or at least she might figure them out, because Lord knew she'd had her own share of lies that Rick had seemed to more or less navigate with ease. It was only fair that she might know her husband as well as he knew her.

"This one's for Daryl," she said, gesturing at the remaining bowl in her hands. She glanced at the other man, sleeping slack-jawed propped up against a mound of pillows, face pale and breathing shallow. There were lines of pain etched into his face that even sleep didn't erase, and for once he looked vulnerable, fragile even. He'd always seemed unapproachable to her, even back when he was standing in his asshole brother's shadow, someone she couldn't figure out how to talk to and who made it clear he didn't need to talk to her. Now, he just looked human. "Should I wake him up?"

Rick glanced at his watch. "Might as well. Food would do him good, and it's been long enough that we can give him some pain killers. Those'd go better with food in him, so we should get him to eat first if we can."

Lori set Daryl's bowl down on the little folding table between the two beds and moved to shake the injured man awake. She couldn't help but flinch when Rick grabbed her arm, stopping her. She remembered the blood on her hands, Shane's loss, the haunted look in Rick's eyes as he evaded her questions about what had happened. But when she looked down, his hand was clean, free of blood where he gripped her.

"Better to talk him awake," Rick said, dropping his hand as if her touch scalded him. "He doesn't take kindly to being woken up by touch."

Lori nodded. "Okay, I'll do that." She eyed him critically. "You should get some rest. You look dead on your feet. Madeline's still in the truck pickup. I can't get her to come out. You had some luck with her last night, maybe you should go sit with her, get some sleep if you can. There's some beans left in the pot for her too. Might do her some good if you take her some food. I'm going to talk to Carol when she gets back about taking her in. There's not enough room in that pickup for the four of us, and Carol's got that way about her. Maybe she can help Madeline better than we can." _And I don't want Madeline around Carl, don't want her to see what my baby boy is turning into._ But of course, she couldn't voice that out loud, because she didn't know what Rick was turning into either. What they all were turning into.

He leaned over to kiss her cheek, and Lori felt a little guilty when she turned away, avoiding him, but she couldn't help it. There was blood on his hands and there were lies on his tongue and secrets behind his eyes, and she didn't know what to do about it. Didn't know how she was going to bring their (_Shane's_) baby into this world when she didn't know if she could trust her husband anymore, when she no longer recognized her son.

"Open a window when you go?" she asked, ignoring the kiss. "It's stuffy in here, and it stinks."

Rick stood beside her, staring at her. She could feel his eyes on her back as she knelt beside Daryl's bed. They stayed like that for several long moments, before Rick sighed and she heard the rustle of the curtain as he left the small room. He paused in the kitchen a moment, and she heard the tell-tale squeaking of him opening the window over the sink, before the door opened and the RV rocked as he stepped down from it.

Lori didn't move for awhile, just stayed crouched down by Daryl's bed trying not to cry. The man she'd loved she no longer knew, and her son was turning cold and heartless before her eyes. And Shane… the man had his faults, she knew that, but he'd taken care of her and Carl and now that she could look back beyond the shock of Rick coming back from the dead and the crazy, mindless panic of those first few weeks, she could see the guilt in his eyes that he'd left his best friend, her husband, for dead. A thick knot of guilt settled in her stomach at the thought of how she'd treated him, in shock at the miracle that had happened, and angry at the fact that Shane had made her an adultress. But the anger had faded and she'd remembered that she'd been happy with him, and even if she couldn't be with him now that her husband was alive and well, she'd hoped that her apology would help him. Instead…

Daryl groaned and tossed a little in his sleep, and the movement broke her out of her somber thoughts. "Hey," she said softly, and repeated it a little louder when he didn't respond. "I've got some lunch for you. Need you to wake up so you can eat it."

His eyes blinked open slowly and he stared up at the ceiling for a moment with a glazed look before grunting, bringing his injured arm up to cradle the area covered by a thick pad on his chest. He turned towards her slowly, face pinched and brow furrowed in pain, and Lori had to restrain herself from trying to touch him to give him some comfort, Rick's warning still fresh in her mind.

Instead she smiled and hoped it reached her eyes. "Good morning. How're you feeling?"

He glanced out the window, looking puzzled. "Morning?" he asked, and Lori would never admit it out loud, but the confusion on his face was adorable.

"Well, more like afternoon," Lori conceded.

Daryl was still gazing out the window. "We're still here? Why ain't we moving yet?" His speech was strained, like it was an effort to talk, and Lori couldn't help but notice that the breaths he took were quick and fast, never deep.

She knew he wouldn't like her to call him out on how lousy he looked, so Lori just shrugged. "I don't know the details, but Hershel and Rick both said you'd had a bad night. Figure they're just giving you a chance to rest up and heal before we move on. Besides, there's plenty of cars around here to gather supplies from. Might as well scavenge what we can."

"Ain't safe out here in the open like this," Daryl protested.

"It isn't safe anywhere," Lori said, shaking her head. "Might as well stay here, let you heal, for as long as we can. Rick's right about one thing – we're safer together. We're safer with you here, and with you healthy again."

Daryl took a sudden interest in the bandage on his arm, picking restlessly at it. "Why you here anyway?" he grumbled, not looking her in the eye.

Lori picked up the small bowl of beans. "Brought you lunch," she told him. "It's not much, but it'll help you heal up faster."

Daryl eyed her critically. "You eaten?" he asked, and Lori only just refrained from rolling her eyes at the fact that Daryl was asking after her rather than taking care of himself.

"Don't worry about me," Lori said. "I'm good. We all ate just a bit ago."

He reached across with his good hand and took the bowl she offered. He cradled it in his bad hand close to his chest and picked up the spoon in his right hand, poking disinterestedly at it before taking a few bites. He ate slowly, methodically, like it was taking all his focus to complete that one activity.

Lori talked to fill the silence, not being one for empty spaces between words. She told him about Madeline and how she was doing. That physically the girl was just fine but she'd lost her parents and had no one to go back to. She told him about the things Andrea and Carl had found scouring the cars. And before she knew what she was saying, she told him she was starting to get a little scared of Rick, that he was hiding something and she didn't know what.

Daryl's eyes went hard at that, and he dropped the spoon back into the bowl. "Rick's an honorable man," he said. "If he's keeping secrets he's got his reasons." It was said with such conviction that Lori almost believed him, but then she thought back to when Daryl and Merle had first wandered into camp, and the steadfast, loyal support Daryl had given his asshole of a brother, and she couldn't help but wonder if Daryl's perceptions were a bit screwed when it came to people he respected.

Daryl eyed the remains of the beans with a look of distaste.

"You finished?" Lori asked, looking worriedly at the bowl. At least half of it still remained, and it had originally been a meager portion at best. Her own belly was still growling at her for more, no matter how bland and tasteless.

Daryl just grimaced and reached over to put the bowl on the little folding table next to the bed. Lori had to scramble to catch the bowl before it ended up on the floor when the movement made him gasp and clutch at his side, his face going grey beneath its tan. She hastily set the bowl down and opened up the bottle of pills by the side of the bed.

"We've still got some of your brother's pills left," she told him, glancing at the label on the prescription bottle and shaking two out of the small vial. "Hershel said it'd be alright if you take some now."

Daryl nodded tersely, but only took one when she held the pills out for him.

Lori frowned at him with concern. "You sure?" she asked. "Bottle says to take two, and you've got to be hurting."

"Things mess with m'head, and this ain't the place to be stoned out of my mind." He shook his head. "One'll be enough."

Lori looked at his pale face, drawn with pain, the shallow hitch of his breathing, and couldn't help but wonder how much truth was actually in his words. Seemed she was surrounded by liars, she thought, as she helped him hold the glass to his lips when his hand shook too much to hold it steady. He sank back against the pillows with a groan, his eyes closed, and she found herself running a hand through his hair in a comforting gesture, like she used to do to Carl when he was sick. He tensed under her, eyes jerking open in startled surprise, a quiet grunt of pain escaping him.

"Sorry," Lori apologized, bringing her hand back quickly. "It's just… just rest up. Get better. We need you."

Daryl turned away, looking uncomfortably out the window. "Y'ever gonna leave so I can get some sleep?" he asked, tone harsh.

Lori sighed, and was trying to figure out how to tell the usually solitary man that Hershel had him under strict observation for the next few days, when there was a soft knock on the hallway wall. Carol poked her head in through the curtain. She smiled a broad grin when she realized Daryl was awake, and Lori stepped back and sat on the other bed as Carol knelt beside Daryl.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, placing a hand on his cheek.

"Feel better if ya'll stopped asking me that," he grumbled, but Lori noticed he didn't move away from Carol's touch.

Carol frowned, moving her hand to his forehead. "You're warm. They given you anything for that?"

"'S fine," Daryl grunted. "Just hot in here."

Carol made a disapproving noise, but didn't say anything about the chill that was actually in the air. Instead, she glanced at the bowl that was sitting on the bedside table. "That all you've eaten today?"

Apparently that was enough mothering for Daryl. "Jesus, woman, leave me be. I'll eat when I want to eat."

Lori would have given him a lecture for that, injured or not, but Carol just shook her head and stood up. "It's good to see you awake," she told him, and Daryl grunted and closed his eyes. He was looking less drawn now, the lines of pain easing, though still present, and Lori figured the pill must be starting to kick in.

Carol gave him a last worried look now that he couldn't see it from her before turning to Lori. "Maggie said you wanted to talk to me?" she asked.

"Yeah," Lori agreed, shooting a glance at Daryl. "Let's talk up front." Not that it would give Daryl any privacy, but sometimes illusions were everything, Lori knew.

Carol sat down at the table, clutching her sweater around her as a gust of chill fall air blew in through the open window. "Is that good for him?" Carol asked, nodding towards the window as Lori slid into the booth across from her.

Lori shrugged. "Can't be any worse for him than no air in here at all. I'll close it in a bit if it gets too cold."

"Did Rick stay up with him all night?"

Lori nodded. "He did, said it was a hard night. I took over for him and told him to go get some sleep. He's with Madeline in the pick-up now."

Carol shook her head, her face sad. "How's she doing? Poor thing."

"About as good as you could expect," Lori answered grimly. "Which isn't very good. Won't talk, won't eat, won't come out of the pick-up." Lori hesitated, taking a deep breath as she chose her words carefully. "Actually, she's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Carol's face hardened and she sat back against the seat, her arms folded across her chest. "What about Madeline?" The steel in her voice was so different from the usual Carol that it took Lori a moment to regain her composure.

"Um… well… it's just…" Lori sighed and pulled herself together. "Look, I was thinking about it and Rick and I have Carl to look after, and the baby on the way, and Rick… well, I don't know where his head is these days. And Madeline needs a lot of help. Probably more than we can give. Poor girl saw her family eaten in front of her." She didn't tell Carol how Carl was so distant, how Rick was full of lies that she could sense but never prove. That there was no way for them to be a family now.

Lori trailed off and looked across the table at Carol. If anything, Carol's face had gotten even harder. She tried again. "You've got such a way about you. It's so easy to trust you. I thought that the first time we met, even felt comfortable leaving Carl with you while… while Shane and I went on ahead to see what was happening. And Daryl trusted you before any of us. Maybe you could do the same with Madeline. Get her to trust you. Help her."

Carol just shook her head, "You're unbelievable. She's a little girl, not a book to be passed around. Your husband decided to take her in, but she's in shock so now you don't want her and you're just going to give her away? Don't try to foist her off on me. You can't do that to a person! Not to a little girl!"

"It's not like that at all," Lori protested. "I'm not trying to foist anything on you. It's just… I don't know what to do with her, and I don't know if Rick cares what happens to her, and Carl…" She felt tears start to well up in her eyes and cursed the hormones running crazy in her body right now that made it so that she couldn't even have a serious conversation without seeming to break down. "You're so good with people, and with everything that happened at Hershel's, maybe Madeline can help you as much as you can help her."

Carol stood up from the table so violently that Lori flinched, and suddenly couldn't hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill. "So that's it?" Carol asked, her voice loud and tone firmer than Lori had ever heard from the other woman. "That's your reasoning for trying to pass Madeline off on me? Poor Carol, she lost her daughter so we'll give her Madeline? Well guess what, I don't want another daughter! What I want is for your husband to have kept mine safe!"

The door slammed behind her as she stormed out of the RV, and it was all Lori could do to sit there, staring at the door in shock, tears on her face. She buried her face in her arms and let herself cry.

What were they all coming to?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **My apologies for the long wait for this chapter – this was the chapter that wouldn't end, and I hope its length makes up somewhat for the wait! A special thank you to Sierra Nichole for the wonderful beta – she helped me get this chapter back under control when it tried to make like Carl and wander everywhere except where it was supposed to be! As always, thank you all for your wonderful reviews and for reading – I hope you continue to enjoy! Real life is busier than usual at the moment (end of semester madness and starting a new job on top of that) and will likely continue to be busy for the next few weeks, so until the end of May my updating might be a little more sporadic than I'd like. I'm sorry – this story wasn't supposed to be this long and I thought I'd be finished by now! Instead, it's only about half done (at least according to my outline). But don't worry, the last chapter is written and I have every intention of finishing this after real life calms down over the next few weeks.

**Disclaimer: **The Walking Dead and it's characters still aren't mine, but they're sure fun to play with.

* * *

><p><strong>Ch. 5<strong>

Waking was hard and painful, fire in his chest and his leg and his side, and beneath that a bone deep ache that seemed to have settled throughout his body. The world around him was a confusing mess of noise and movement that made little sense. Daryl tensed, for a moment not sure where he was or why he was there, wary of the formless shapes that moved around him, the cool, foreign presence on his forehead.

He blinked against the harsh light streaming down on his face, blinding him. Someone said something then, but he was still too muddled to make it out, and then the figure next to him reached across him and the light faded to a warm glow.

Now that he could see again, memories started to jump back at him in spurts. The crash, the little girl, the horrible feeling of suffocation, the way the beans from his last meal still turned sourly in his stomach. When was that last meal, he wondered, thinking of the morning sun bright on his face. How much time had he lost?

He blinked again, and the movement around him solidified itself into the figures of Hershel, Patricia, and Maggie, all jammed into the tiny room with him. "The fuck?" he tried to ask, but it mostly came out as a breathy moan that prompted Maggie to smile a little too brightly down at him.

"Welcome back," she said with far more cheeriness than she had any right to. "Dad and Patricia were just coming to take a look at you. You've got a bit of a fever." She moved towards him then and he couldn't help the flinch, despite the agony it raised in his side and chest. She moved fast, and he thought briefly about flashes of fists that had come before and the pain that had come with them, before he made himself stop and held himself tense.

"Just going to wet this again," she said, holding up the piece of cloth she'd taken off his forehead, her eyes apologetic as she looked at him. "Try to help keep you cool until you kick this fever."

He could hear her sloshing as she dipped it in what must have been water and rung out the small piece of fabric, but it was too much effort to try to look. She moved slower this time as she placed it back on his forehead, and it felt so good he might have let himself relax if it weren't for the fact that he once again found himself trapped in a small space with a group of people he hardly knew.

Daryl watched blearily as Maggie stood up and squeezed her way out of the tiny bedroom. "I'll leave him to you," she told Hershel, clasping him gently on the shoulder as she slid by.

Hershel was all business, sitting Daryl up and giving Patricia tense orders as they checked over Daryl's injuries. Hershel shoved a thermometer into Daryl's mouth, shaking his head sadly when the thing beeped that it was done.

"A fever's normal after traumatic injuries like yours," he told Daryl, "but yours is coming on fast and strong. Let's get some antibiotics in you, try to kick this before it gets too bad. Hopefully we have enough."

Daryl didn't protest. He'd never say it out loud, but the truth was he felt like shit, alternating between being too hot and too cold, and lightheaded just from trying to sit up during Hershel's exam. He just swallowed the pills they handed him without a word, hoping that it would be the end of the poking and prodding and that he could fall back into sleep, where the pain and humiliation of his injuries couldn't touch him.

Instead Hershel caught him by the shoulder as he tried to lean back and forced him to stay upright. "Sorry, Daryl, I know this isn't easy," Hershel apologized. "And this is probably going to be pretty unpleasant for you, but I need you to try and take some deep breaths. Pneumonia is a big concern after a chest injury like yours, and it can settle in if you don't take deep breaths at least a few times a day."

Daryl nodded miserably and tried to do like Hershel instructed. It was agony, the movement of his chest pulling painfully on his ribs. He was thankful that neither Hershel nor Patricia said anything about the noises he made as he tried to take a deep breath, nor about the tears that sprung to his eyes at the attempt.

"Good, good," was all Hershel said when it was over and Daryl was leaning back against the pillows trying to work past the pain. He wondered briefly if he'd passed out, because suddenly Patricia was gone and it was just him and Hershel in the small bedroom.

"There's some folks that've been asking about you," Hershel said once Daryl had his breathing back under control. "Think you'd be willing to meet with them a bit? It'd do them good to see you're doing okay."

Daryl wondered what Hershel's definition of okay really meant, seeing as how sitting up while Hershel checked him over had left him breathless and exhausted. More than that, he wondered who would ask after him. Likely Carol. The woman was too damned sensitive for her own good and had seemed to take him up as her own personal cause. Nothing he'd done so far had driven her away, but there wasn't no reason she should be taking care of him when she needed to take care of herself first. Other than that, though, his mind drew a blank.

"Sure," he said, figuring if he agreed he could just get this over with and fall back into sleep. The pillows piled behind his back called to him, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

As expected, Carol was the first to enter. She smiled her lopsided smile at him and knelt next to his bed, putting a cool hand on his cheek. "Hey," she said, "It's good to see you. How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Daryl grunted, uncomfortable under her gaze.

Carol just shook her head as if she didn't believe him and he hated how easily she could see through him. "How's the pain?" she asked. "They given you anything for it?"

He gave a one-armed shrug. "Ain't bad," he said, but his eyes must have given him away because she reached for the pill bottle and shook out one of the Oxycontin. He'd already taken one, but in the aftermath of Hershel's breathing exercises he thought maybe it might just be okay to take the full dose for once.

His hand shook so badly he needed her help just to hold the glass, and Daryl would have been humiliated if he'd had the energy. Instead he just sunk back down against the pillows, waiting for the pill to kick in and dull the pain enough to let him get to sleep.

Carol brushed a hand against his cheek again. "I know you need your rest, but Rick was wanting to see you, too. Think you're up for it?"

"Sure," Daryl grunted, though really he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Carol smiled gently at him, tucking the covers up around his shoulders as a chill struck him and his flesh broke out in goose bumps.

"I'll tell him to keep it short," she said, and Daryl was grateful she understood. "I'll be out in the main part of the trailer if you need anything. Just let me know."

Rick looked awful, face drawn and pale and the circles under his eyes even darker than they had been the night before. Daryl wondered if he'd slept at all.

"You look like shit," Daryl said in greeting.

Rick just smiled wanly. "And you look like a rose garden. How're you feeling?"

"Fucking fantastic," Daryl answered, getting a little sick of that question. Rick chuckled.

"Yeah, I can tell. It's good to see you awake, though. You were kind of out of it last night." And Daryl figured that was the truth, since most of the night before was a blur of pain and misery that he'd rather sooner forget.

Rick studied Daryl critically. "Hate to tell you this, man, but you look like shit too."

"'M fine," Daryl said again, like maybe if he said it enough times it would finally be true.

Rick patted him on the shoulder, above the bandages. "You will be," he said, nodding to himself. "Gonna be tough not having you around while you heal, especially after…" He didn't finish, and he didn't need to. Daryl knew what he was going to say, though he wasn't sure how much a difference him being around or not would make. People had looked up to Shane, respected him. Daryl, all he did was catch squirrels.

Rick sighed a weary sigh and stood. "Carol told me in no uncertain terms not to wear you out. Just rest up and let yourself get back on your feet. Carol and I will be around if you need anything."

Daryl liked to think he was one who knew good advice when he heard it. Even though he didn't like it, there wasn't much else he could do. So he gave into his body's demands and let himself drift, not questioning the small part of himself that felt safe when he knew Rick was standing guard, trying not to think about the fact that he was grateful he could let his guard down. Thinking like that got you killed, he told himself sternly. It was the last thing he thought for awhile.

After that, time turned disjointed, random, as though the days were skipping about around him and he was stuck stationary in the middle. One minute it was dark, the next light, and he couldn't seem to figure out which it was supposed to be. He caught snatches of what was happening, but it didn't make sense.

Carol held a glass of water to his lips. She urged him to drink even as he recoiled in horror from the ants crawling over the glass, over her hands, floating dead in the clear liquid. She made him drink anyway, and it tasted so good he decided he didn't care about the dead ants.

He wanted to ask her why she was crying, but got lost again before he had the chance.

Hershel gripped his face, shaking him slightly, and it set off bolts of lightning behind his eyes. He tried to twist free, but agony erupted in his chest and another set of arms tightened around him, holding him upright and in place. Hershel's words were distorted, as though being spoken from far away. "I know it hurts, but I need you to take some deep breaths." Daryl just moaned, for once not caring how pathetic he sounded, just wanting to be left alone. Hershel shook him again. "It's important, son. Last thing you need is to develop pneumonia on top of everything else. Now breathe deep for me."

Daryl tried, he really did, because maybe then they would leave him alone and let him sleep, but he didn't know if he'd succeeded as the agony overwhelmed him and he drifted again.

Merle taunted him, calling him a pussy and a fucking candy-ass liberal and Rick's little bitch. "He did this to me, little bro," Merle said, raising his right arm. The stump was rotten, black, and filled with maggots, the flesh sloughing off in dead chunks. Daryl tried to recoil from the sight, but his body betrayed him, agony flaring in his bones and along his side, and he couldn't move. Merle leaned closer, and Daryl shut his eyes but his brother was still there. "Officer fuckin' friendly. And now you might as well take it in the ass from him. They're gonna leave you baby bro, just like you left me. They don't give a shit about you, not like I did. You can't trust anyone these days. You fuckin' taught me that."

Merle lifted him up and shoved the stump of his arm under Daryl's nose. "No," Daryl tried to say, trying to twist away, revulsion and guilt setting his stomach on edge.

"Daryl, you need to take these pills to get better. Don't fight us, please." And suddenly Merle was gone, Carol in his place, holding a glass to his lips, and it was all just too confusing to bother with so Daryl didn't.

Sophia was there, standing next to Lori, thanking him for saving her, and he didn't understand because she was dead in the ground, and before that had been dead in that barn, and he hadn't saved her. When he tried to tell her that, Lori hushed him and hurried her out of the room, but Sophia came back, this time with half her shoulder torn away, and stared at him accusingly from the other bed.

It was night and Daryl found himself blinking up into the dark, the white ceiling of the camper illuminated by the moonlight that streamed in through the window. Shadows danced across the walls, and Daryl thought he saw the hands of the dead there, reaching out for him. He tried to move away from it, but the pain in his side brought him up short and he grunted, the breath catching in his chest.

"Hey, man, just relax." The voice was youthful and familiar, but it took Daryl a minute to place it. Glenn. "You awake? Can you talk to me?"

The ceiling teemed with the arms of the dead trying to bring him into their fold. "Randall didn't get bit," Daryl remembered, closing his eyes against the sight. The dead waited for him there too.

"That's in the past, remember." There was movement at his side, and Daryl heard the sound of a medicine bottle opening. "Think you can eat something? Take some meds? It'll be a lot easier to get these in you while you're awake."

"Don't want to be one of them," Daryl said, staring up at the ceiling again. The arms of the dead had resolved themselves into the shadows of the trees cast against the ceiling by the bright moonlight, but Daryl could still see them when he closed his eyes. He felt some of the fear in his chest welling up and threatening to spill over. He blinked the feeling back, swallowing heavily against it, and it retreated, though it still hung there just below the surface.

Glenn blinked, puzzlement on his face, before realization dawned. "One of… oh, no, dude, that's not going to happen. You'll get better, it's just a matter of time. You'll see. Herhsel says you're doing well, that the antibiotics should help you kick the infection. I should go get him. He can tell it to you better, take a look at you now that you're awake."

Somewhere Daryl found the strength to throw out an arm and grab Glenn's wrist before he left. It tore at him, but this was more important than pain. "Promise me," he gasped through the agony in his chest.

Glenn pried Daryl's hand off his arm with an iron grip, but he didn't let go of it as he stepped back towards the bed. "Promise you what?"

"Don't let me come back. Shoot me in the head. Don't matter if it's you or Rick or someone else, just don't let me be one of them."

Glenn stepped closer to the bed, grabbed Daryl's chin and forced the other man to look at him. "Hey, listen to me," Glenn said, leaning in close. "You're not going to die."

Daryl's bones ached and his body was on fire and he wondered how Glenn could say that with such conviction when it felt like he could burn to ash at any second. But he nodded and relaxed, feeling the fever begin to creep back up and take hold, because he'd seen the understanding in Glenn's eyes and knew the other man would see to it if it came down to it.

The bright morning light was what finally woke him, for real this time. He remembered snatches of memory, though it was hard to tell what had been a dream from what had been real.

Andrea was sitting next to him, humming to herself as she stitched on a pair of jeans. The sun was high outside the camper window, and warm against his face. She didn't notice he was awake, lost as she was in her work, and he watched those hands that held a gun so confidently fumble with the little needle. She really was lousy at sewing, he thought, noticing the crooked, uneven stitches.

"Thought you didn't do women's work," he managed once he'd worked up enough spit to talk. His voice sounded dry and raspy, and each breath was a struggle.

Andrea didn't ask him how he felt, or tell him she was glad he was awake, and it was refreshing. She just laid the sewing aside and picked up a glass of water from somewhere beside Daryl's head. "I won't tell if you don't," she said with a smile as she helped him drink. "Don't want to ruin my reputation."

"Never saw anything," Daryl agreed, already feeling himself starting to slide back into sleep.

"I'll let Hershel know you woke up," he heard Andrea say as he started to drift again. "Rick and Carol will be happy to hear it."

The next time he woke, it was to Hershel cleaning out the abrasions on his arm, and he learned in no uncertain terms that he was to have a babysitter around the clock for the next few days. It was frustrating, having no time to himself. But Hershel insisted on it. "For a few days, at least," Hershel said. "We almost lost you, son, and I don't want to take any chances."

Really, it wasn't so bad at first, since all he seemed to do was sleep, waking up just long enough to eat a meager portion of their rations before his body betrayed him and he found himself lost once again in dreams. Hershel made him do breathing exercises at least once a day, which was absolute torture, but at least the agony broke the monotony of sleeping, eating, and staring out the window while someone sat over him doing their own work.

Rick and Carol were with him most often when it wasn't Hershel or Patricia tending to his injuries, but the others all took turns as well. Lori brought the little girl, Madeline he found out, to see him. She was pale and sad and terrified all at once, hiding behind Lori as the woman tried to convince her that Daryl had just been sick when he'd said those things before, and he was better now and she could thank him properly for saving her like she wanted to.

"Sorry," Lori told Daryl. "She was worried about you and wanted to thank you for stopping your bike, but when I brought her before you were pretty sick and thought she was Sophia. I think it frightened her."

Daryl had vague memories of thinking Sophia was in the room, and insisting that she couldn't be there because she was dead. He felt bad about that, because nobody had hardly ever asked after him his whole life, and here this little girl had worried about him when she'd just lost her family, and all he'd done was scare her.

"'S'alright," Daryl told Lori, trying to keep his voice low and calm, and the strain from his broken ribs hidden. "She don't need to thank me. Didn't do nothing special, and it would've been my fault if I'da hit her."

Lori shook her head at him, a strange expression on her face, and it looked like she might be about to cry. Woman was like a damn fountain, and it had only gotten worse since she got pregnant. Daryl turned to Madeline instead, not having the energy to deal with any drama at the moment.

"I caught a real snake once. Wasn't nearly as nice as yours." He figured he didn't need to tell her that it had been a cottonmouth, and once he'd realized what it was, he'd lopped off its head and roasted it over the fire once his hands had stopped shaking enough to do so.

Madeline blinked at him, glancing down at the stuffed snake she clutched in her hands and then back up at Daryl. He smiled wearily at her, already feeling the short conversation beginning to wear at him. It was pretty pathetic that he couldn't seem to stay awake for more than an hour at a time. "Don't need to thank me," he said again, settling back against the pillows propping him up and closing his eyes. "I'm just glad you didn't get hurt."

He was surprised when he felt a tiny hand on his. Madeline had moved out from behind Lori and was looking at the bandages visible on his arms and chest with huge eyes. "Lori said you got hurt real bad," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably under Madeline's gaze, tugging the blankets up higher on his chest. "Looks worse than it is," he lied. "Don't matter, anyway. I'll be fine soon enough."

Madeline nodded, her gaze solemn. Then, she took a deep breath and, lower lip trembling, held out her stuffed snake. "Grandma made Slither for me when I was sick and it made me feel better. You should take her until you get better."

Daryl had no idea what to say to Madeline, who looked like she was about to burst into tears but was holding up that damn pink and purple snake with a hopeful look. God but people were confusing. Give him walkers any day. "Won't you miss him?" Daryl asked, trying to figure out what to say.

"_Her,_" Madeline corrected firmly. "Slither is a girl because she's pink and has hearts."

"Oh, right." Daryl looked desperately up at Lori for some help, but the damn woman was smiling, _laughing even_, though she tried to hide it when he glared at her. "Um… I can't take your snake from you," he told Madeline.

"Why not?" she asked, looking even sadder than she had when she'd offered it to him, and Daryl may not have been the best with kids, but he knew _because grown men don't sleep with stuffed snakes like little sissies _wasn't a good answer because it would probably end with Madeline in tears and Lori angry at him.

Daryl racked his brain trying to figure out how he could get out of having to sleep with a stuffed animal, glaring at Lori who was still trying to stifle her giggles and being no help whatsoever. "If I take her, then you won't have here there to protect you," he said at last, hoping she'd accept that answer.

She frowned at that explanation, but nodded, seeming to understand and Daryl breathed a shallow sigh of relief. "But you don't have anyone to protect you either," she pointed out, and Daryl reminded himself that she was just a little girl, and a scared one at that, and didn't need him saying mean things to her.

"Got my crossbow," he said instead, hoping it would put an end to this conversation.

Madeline looked around the small room. "But it's not here. How can it keep you safe if you don't have it with you?"

Lori stepped in then, and Daryl almost forgot every bad thing he'd ever thought about her until he noticed the glint of humor in her eyes. "Let's let Daryl rest, honey. I'll make sure he has his crossbow to keep him safe after we get you some lunch." Only Madeline's presence in the room kept Daryl from cursing Lori, so he glared at her instead, which for some reason only seemed to amuse her more as she and Madeline said goodbye and wished him well.

Carol stepped into the room as Lori and Madeline left and Daryl groaned, realizing she'd probably heard all of that. Merle would have kicked his ass halfway to Wednesday for being soft, but Carol just smiled and sat down on the bed opposite his, pulling out some yarn and knitting needles from that bag she carried more often than not.

"You're real good with her, you know that?" Carol said casually, and Daryl looked away, feeling the blush spreading on his cheeks.

"Little girl just lost her family," he muttered. "Can't exactly go around yelling at her." He watched Madeline outside the window, still clutching the snake in one hand as she held out a bowl for T-Dog to fill with the other. She hung close to Lori's side, not talking to the others, and flinched when T-Dog went to pat her on the head after filling her bowl.

Carol didn't say anything more, just started working on whatever it was she was working on, the rhythmic clicking of her metal needles and her calm presence eventually soothing Daryl back into sleep.

Even T-Dog, Jimmy and Beth took their turns babysitting him. T-Dog and Jimmy were both quiet, minding their own business and going so far as to leave him alone in the back of the trailer while they worked up front. It was nice to not have eyes watching over him every second, and Daryl could relax then, staring out the window or trying to read one of Dale's god awful books until his still-healing body pulled him back into sleep. Beth was quiet too when she sat with him. She'd shyly offer him water or food or ask if he needed anything else, but otherwise would sit on the other bed and try her hardest to avoid looking at him. He suspected he scared her, but then everything seemed to scare her, and he didn't care anyway, so why did he find himself talking as softly to her as he had to little Madeline, or feel guilty at the look on her face when his temper got the better of him? His guilt made him even angrier, and she slipped out of the room in tears only to be replaced by Carol, who frowned down at him and helped him do his breathing exercises and let all his angry words wash over her.

By the fourth day, he was completely fed up with it, and with his watchers. Rick was sitting with him this time, cleaning out his gun and ignoring Daryl, and Daryl decided it was high time to do something, anything to get off the bed.

Sitting up tugged uncomfortably at his side, but he did it anyway. His bad leg was nearly useless, and it throbbed uncomfortably when he set it down, but he ignored it. Rick just watched him, not interfering, and for that Daryl was grateful. He paused a moment, sitting at the edge of the bed with both feet on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he struggled to get his breathing back under control, before pushing himself to his feet, using the doorway as leverage to pull himself up.

He wavered, balance precarious on his injured leg, and suddenly Rick was beside him, propping him up with a shoulder under his good side. Daryl would never admit it out loud, but he was grateful. He wasn't sure how long he would have stayed upright without some sort of support.

"Where to?" Rick asked, shifting Daryl's good arm over his shoulder and angling them towards the curtain that separated the beds from the rest of the RV. Daryl honestly hadn't thought that far ahead, had been singly focused on just getting upright, so the question took him by surprise.

"Um…" Daryl hedged, trying to figure out some reason why he needed to be up and moving around besides the sheer boredom of laying on his back for another minute. "Gotta piss," he finally decided, and was more than a little surprised to find it was true.

It was only a few shaky steps to the RV's tiny bathroom, but even that left Daryl breathless and hurting. Rick propped him against the corner between the wall and the shower and stepped back, frowning at Daryl with concern.

"You okay on your own?" Rick asked, and Daryl waved him away. He might be useless as shit right now, but there was no way in hell he was going to have another man help him take a piss. It was embarrassing enough thinking about how the others had handled this when Daryl had been out of it.

To his surprise, rather than help him back to the bed once he'd finished, Rick took Daryl by his good arm and helped him out into the main body of the RV. Daryl settled onto the couch with a groan, relieved to be both sitting down again and doing it somewhere that wasn't the bedroom. He leaned back against the wall while Rick helped him lift his bad leg up onto the couch and stretch it out in front of him. The throbbing immediately lessened, and even though the wall was hard against his back, the sheer relief at being somewhere that wasn't the bedroom made Daryl feel a hundred times better.

"Figured you could use a change of scenery," Rick explained when Daryl shot him a puzzled glance. "Besides, Hershel said that it'd be good for you to be up and moving around as much as possible once you're able. Said it would help your lung heal."

Daryl snorted bitterly. "Up and moving? That's bullshit. Only made it ten feet before I collapsed on the couch, and I wouldn't have made it that far without you."

Rick's eyes turned serious, and it was the type of look that made Daryl nervous because it usually meant his dad was either about to start crying or beating on him and he'd never been able to figure out which was coming next. Rick just seemed to fold in on himself, the shadows on his face suddenly all the more dark. "_I_ wouldn't have made it this far without _you_," he said gravely.

Daryl shrugged, not sure what to say to that, because with the exception of the Randall situation and the way he'd… given Dale some peace, was the best way he could think of to say it, he and Rick had been at odds more often than not. "Didn't do nothin' that didn't need doing," he said at last, and Rick nodded, patting him on the leg as he rose.

"Wish I could say the same," Rick said, and Daryl could almost see the weight on his shoulders. Daryl wasn't one for words, not when actions would do, but he opened his mouth to tell Rick that what he'd done so far had kept them all alive, and there wasn't no one who could question that. Rick cut him off before he could speak.

"I'll go find you some food. Only way to get better is to eat, build up your strength." He was gone before Daryl had a chance to get a word in edgewise, and it was Carol who returned to the RV, a bowl of soup in her hands. He thanked her and ate it gratefully, and when the activity of the day started to catch up to him it was T-Dog rather than Rick who Carol found to help him back to bed.

* * *

><p>Of course he was alone when it happened. He'd finally managed to convince Hershel that he wouldn't fall over dead if he left him alone for five minutes, and that actually, one of them would very likely end up dead if he didn't leave him alone for at least an hour, and was leaning back against the pillows watching the birds in the trees outside the window just enjoying having peace and quiet for once when he saw it. Or rather, he didn't see it, but he saw the birds all take flight at once and could hear the way the forest suddenly went silent through the thin walls of the RV.<p>

He could see Carl and Madeline outside, washing dishes by their make-shift fire pit, but no one else appeared to be around. He didn't even hear the tell-tale creaking of someone standing guard on the roof of the RV, and he cursed, wondering where everyone was and why they were fool enough to leave the kids on their own. Hadn't these people figured out yet that there were dead people walking around trying to eat them? This wasn't fucking Disney World.

Getting up still tugged painfully at his side and set his leg to throbbing, but it was getting easier and easier each time. He limped towards the cabinet where they kept the guns, leaning heavily against the wall as he moved. He winced at the noise he was making, but it couldn't be helped. There was no way for him to move silently like this. A thump against the outside of the trailer on the side facing the woods let him know he'd been heard, and he quickened his pace as best he could, scrabbling through the cabinet for a handgun. He'd just have to hope there weren't too many walkers out there, because there was no way he could draw his cross bow or take them out with a knife at the moment. The .45 he found was loaded and he flicked the safety off, holding it in front of him as he headed for the door.

One walker clawed uselessly at the plastic window over the table, but Daryl ignored it for the moment because as long as it was trying to claw its way in through the window, he knew where it was and what it was doing, and could take care of it when it became a danger. He was more worried about what was out in front of the RV where Carl and Madeline were working. He glanced out the small window above the sink and didn't see anything, so cautiously swung the door open and looked around, gun raised and ready to shoot anything that moved.

The road was empty save for Carl and Madeline, and he wondered how it was they didn't sense the unnatural stillness of the world around them. Thankfully they worked in silence and hadn't caught the notice of the walker outside the trailer yet. He eyed the two stairs leading out of the RV with dismay. There was no way he was going to be able to make it down the steps without falling on his ass, so he was effectively trapped in the RV. He gave a low whistle to get the kids' attention and waved them over, holding his finger to his lips to tell them to keep quiet, noticing as he did so that the noise of the walker at the window had stopped. He risked a glance back over his shoulder and realized he couldn't see the thing anymore. The realization shot a rush of adrenaline through his battered body, and he stood up straighter, braced against the edge of the door, gun out and ready to shoot.

Carl looked up at his whistle and Daryl could see understanding dawn on his face immediately. He dropped the plate he was working on cleaning and grabbed Madeline by the arm, clamping a hand over her mouth when she started to make a startled noise. Daryl could see him say something to her, and she turned wide, frightened eyes to where Daryl stood in the trailer doorway. Madeline nodded and took off running towards him, as Carl pulled a gun out of his belt and ran after her.

The walker rounded the side of the trailer when Madeline was about half way to it, and it immediately started to make a bee line for her, its shuffling gait quickening as it moved in her direction. Daryl raised the gun and aimed as best the shifting bones in his chest would allow. The recoil of the shot tore through him and almost brought him to his knees, but he was glad to see the thing fall, a bloody hole through the side of its head.

"C'mon," he hissed at Madeline, who had slowed and was staring in horror at the walker lying dead only a few yards from her. Carl had slowed as well and Daryl wanted to yell at them both to hurry the hell up when he heard a noise to his right. He turned his head to find a walker just feet away, bearing down on him quickly. He swung his gun around, knowing there was no way he'd get it raised and aimed in time, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight, especially not when it meant the kids would be left defenseless. Leaning on the door frame, he managed to kick out with his bad leg, striking what used to be a rather portly old man in the chest, knocking it back just enough to let him get his weapon up in front of him. The motion sent a spike of agony up through his leg and he felt something tear as he kicked, but he ignored it, pushing the feeling aside as something to think about later, after they'd survived this. Daryl took a breath, bracing himself for the pain that would come with the shot he was about to take, when a different gunshot rung out and the old man dropped to the ground, dead for good this time. He looked at the direction the shot had come from and saw Carl ejecting the spent cartridge from his handgun.

Daryl shifted his aim to target a third walker coming out from the woods behind Carl. His first shot missed, hampered by his inability to raise his arms high enough to aim well, but he took it down on the second try.

Madeline and then Carl squeezed by him and into the trailer, and Daryl pushed himself away from the support of the door frame and slammed the door shut as another two walkers appeared at the edge of the roadway.

"Shit," Daryl swore, not caring that the kids heard. He slumped against the arm of the couch, breathless and panting around the pain in his side and his leg. Red was already beginning to soak the bandages wrapped around his lower leg, and Daryl was pretty sure he'd torn a few stitches there, if not more. His hands shook, both from the exertion and from the rush of adrenaline that had given him the energy to stand and fight for so long. The room did a sickening loop around him as he sank all the way to the floor, and his head felt light, unattached to the rest of him. He thought briefly about trying to make a run for it in the RV, but there was no way he could drive like this. He'd be just as likely to steer the RV into a ditch as get them to safety. Besides, it would mean leaving the rest of the group behind without most of their supplies, and Daryl couldn't quite bring himself to do that if there was some other chance of survival. They were trapped here.

Madeline huddled on the floor next to him, silent tears on her cheek as she clutched her stupid snake to her chest. Carl stood and turned the lock on the door, giving them a little bit more protection, no matter how flimsy. He stood and peaked out the kitchen window before dropping hurriedly back down behind the counter, face pale.

"There's at least five more out there," he reported, voice a whisper. "I think one of them saw me."

Daryl cursed again. They were fucked three ways to Friday.

"Stay low and get me some more bullets," he ordered, forcing his body to move so that he was leaning against the dinette bench, facing the door. His body obeyed, but reluctantly, and his leg left a smear of red where he drug it across the floor. "Then take Madeline and hide in the cupboards underneath the beds in the back. Don't come out, no matter what, unless I tell you to. Got it?"

Carl nodded, eyes wide, but he did as Daryl said, scrambling on all fours to the closet and pulling out a box of ammo, all the while staying out of sight of the windows. Something thumped against the door of the RV, and Madeline whimpered, a low frightened sound that had Daryl reaching out to give her hand a squeeze before he even realized what he was doing. Carl crawled back to Daryl's side, dropping the box of ammo by Daryl's leg, and then pulling out the gun he carried.

Despite the danger they were in, Daryl's eyes narrowed. "That my gun?" he asked, voice low, and Carl nodded, miserably.

"I'm sorry I took it, but I tried to give it back and Dad and Shane both said I should keep it and so I did and here, you can have it back, I promise I won't touch it again." It was said in one quiet, urgent rush, and Daryl thought that if he survived this he'd be having words with Carl about taking what wasn't his. But for now he shook his head, concentrating on reloading the weapon in his own hands.

"Keep it," he whispered. "Use it to protect yourself if they find you and Madeline."

Carl nodded and tucked it back into his waistband. He grabbed Madeline by the arm and pulled her behind him into the back room, making sure to keep low and quiet as they moved. Madeline shot a glance over her shoulder at Daryl and he smiled at her, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.

The sounds outside the trailer had gotten louder and more numerous, and he could see the occasional rotting hand raise up and beat against the window above the kitchen sink.

Daryl raised his gun, resting his shaking arm on his bent knee, and decided he'd take out as many as he could once that door opened. Never let it be said a Dixon didn't go down without a fight.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm so, so sorry about the wait for this, and thank you to all of you who stuck with the story, followed it, favorited it, and sent me messages of support even though I'm sure it looked hopeless that I would continue. They were very much appreciated, and I'm sorry that it took this long to get this chapter out. I can't guarantee a time for the next chapter because I just got a new job that requires a ton of travel and I'll be lucky to have electricity and running water, much less internet, where I'll be staying, but it won't be 10 months again, I can definitely promise that. Thank you again and I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 6

Carol's head shot up at the sound, glancing worriedly over the sea of cars that separated their small group from the camp. Her eyes met Lori's, and she knew the terror in Lori's eyes was reflected in her own.

"That was a gunshot," Lori breathed, barely more than a whisper. Carol nodded a shaky agreement, squinting her eyes against the afternoon light as if that would somehow help her see further, see what was going on back at camp.

"At least it was just one," she started to say, but was interrupted by the crack of another gunshot echoing off the hills surrounding them. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she drew the small handgun she'd been assigned out of her purse.

"Oh god, the kids," Lori gasped, palming her own gun. Carol grabbed her free hand, clutching it. She couldn't help but notice it was cold, and sweaty. Carol felt the gun in her grip slip in her own sweaty palms. Carl, Jimmy, Beth, _Daryl,_ her mind screamed, fear rising like a living thing in her throat. Madeline, she thought, almost as an afterthought, and felt bad that she didn't even feel guilty about the fact that thoughts of the girl had come last.

"Wait," Carol said, pulling Lori back. "We can't help any of them if we go running in there like the cavalry. We need to be quiet about it. Find Rick and Andrea if we can. See what's going on before we run in guns blazing." She deliberately didn't mention that, despite their training, she doubted she could hit a walker in the head more often than one in ten times.

Lori nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself, though her eyes darted in the direction of camp as a third gunshot, and then a fourth, sounded. "We can't wait long. If we don't find them on the way we go in without them."

"Okay," Carol agreed, feeling her heart pound as she gripped the alien-like gun in one hand. "The others will have likely heard the shots too. They'll be heading back."

They moved silently through the tangle of cars, eyes alert for movement. Carol's heart beat faster at the lack of further gun shots while they moved. She tried to tell herself it was a good thing, that it meant the attack must have been limited, but she couldn't convince herself. Couldn't erase the image of Daryl and the kids torn apart by the mindless dead. Lord, Daryl was still hurt and Jimmy little more than a kid. Why had they left them alone at camp to guard the kids? Why had they thought they were safe when nowhere was safe now?

The crack of a weapon firing to her left made Carol jump, and she looked over to see Andrea loading a new bullet into the chamber of her handgun. T-Dog was beside her, grimly clutching a rifle as he scanned the sea of cars. A walker slumped over the hood of a nearby SUV, dark, dead blood pooling around a gaping wound in its skull.

"The kids," Lori reminded them, grasping Carol's hand and pulling her along. The sound of T-Dog's rifle going off behind them made Carol jump, but she didn't turn around. She didn't want to see. Instead, she let Lori lead her blindly into danger, and it was only when she remembered Daryl and the kids, sitting there helpless with only Jimmy and Beth as protection, that she could gather the courage to keep following.

The sight that greeted them was one Carol hoped to never see again. A pile of walkers were laid out in front of door to the RV, which hung loosely open on its hinges, swinging in the slight afternoon breeze. Even more walkers were converged at the doorway, clawing over each other in their attempts to get inside, climbing mindlessly over the piles of dead that already lay in front of them.

"Carl!" Lori shouted, dropping Carol's hand and raising her gun. It jerked in her hands and one of the walkers clawing its way over the dead bodies already lying at the doorway of the RV joined the pile. Another one just took its place, only to fall dead from a shot coming from inside the RV. Carol raised her own gun in a shaking grip and remembered to squeeze, not pull, the trigger. The recoil startled her as much as it had the first time she'd shot the thing, and she missed. Another shot from inside the RV dropped the next walker.

A few of the walkers at the rear of the group trying to make their way into the RV turned their attention to Lori and Carol. Carol tried to readjust her grip on the barrel in sweat soaked hands, and nearly dropped her gun. Movement to her left had her swinging the gun up and around, and she almost squeezed the trigger before recognizing Andrea lining up her shot beside her. T-Dog cursed quietly from somewhere behind her, and Carol heard the loud bang of his rifle though the sound was muffled, as though he were shooting away from them.

T-Dog cursed again. "We gotta get to the cars and get out of here. This noise is just drawing more of them." He fired again, and Carol risked a glance behind her, only to have her heart sink at the sight of several more walkers stumbling through the mess of cars behind them.

There was a lull in the firing from inside the RV, and Lori surged forward as she called Carl's name. Carol dropped her gun, grabbing Lori by the arm and pulling her back, holding the other woman close like Lori had done for Carol once long ago, under those cars on the road as Sophia whimpered in fear. "There's nothing you can do," Carol told her as calmly as she could, with walkers bearing down on them and Lori shaking with silent tears and her own gut clenched with fear for Daryl. "Best thing for your boy is to take out those walkers at the RV and get him out of here."

"Carol's right," Andrea said, her voice and hands steady as she took shot after shot. Each one took out a walker. She paused to reload, as calmly as if this were practice, and Carol envied Andrea her poise, her control. "We take these out, we can get to the RV, get out of here. It's not safe here anymore."

Lori nodded shakily, raising her gun again and taking aim. Another walker fell. There was a shot from inside the RV, and a walker fell half-way though the door. Carol let out a sigh of relief that at least someone was still alive in there.

"We can do this," Carol said, as much to reassure herself as Lori. It must have helped on some level, because when she raised her gun again, her hands no longer shook. She thought of the kids, of Beth and Jimmy, of Daryl, and the fact that someone inside the trailer was still fighting. This time, when her fingers squeezed the trigger, they held steady. The walker closest to them collapsed, the top of his head blown away.

Any pretense Carol had held of keeping quiet fled at that point. There was no going back - it was obvious that this would turn into a bloodbath. The only thing they could hope for was the chance to get to the RV and flee before they were overrun. And suddenly, Carol felt a sense of calm come over her. They might all die here, yes, but it didn't matter anymore. What was done was done. Her shots came surer after that, her hands steadier, as she raised the gun, accounted for the recoil, aimed, and squeezed. To protect the kids. To protect these people that she hadn't even known before the world had gone to hell, but realized all of a sudden she would die to protect.

And then, it was over. Carol found herself holding her pistol in front of her, ready, sights aimed at nothing but dead bodies. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, and she could feel the way her shoulder braced against Lori's, both of them turned slightly to the side to cover different areas as they fought their way to the RV. Even T-Dog and Andrea were quiet, though she could hear the both of them breathing loudly, could even imagine that she could hear their hearts beating in synch with hers as they waited for the next wave. But everything was still, unmoving, and the quick glance Carol dared to take behind her showed that the walkers coming up behind them were just as dead as those whom they had faced.

"Carl!" Lori shouted again, breaking the post-battle trance they all seemed to be caught in, and Carol let her go this time. She followed, fear pounding in her chest for Daryl, for the other kids they'd left behind at the camp. The door to the RV was sagging on one hinge, the other torn away by the herd in their attempts to get into the camper. The dead were piled in front of the doorway, spilling into it, blocking it. Lori paused to tug on the passenger side door, but it was locked. Carol swung around to check the driver's door, only to find the same. She could see through the window enough to see Carl standing by the table, gun still drawn. At least he looked unhurt. Her fear kicked up a notch when she noticed Daryl slumped on the floor, propped up against the kitchenette chair beside Carl. He didn't appear to be moving.

"Everyone okay?" a voice called, and Carol startled since she hadn't even heard Rick approach. He led Hershel, Maggie, and Patricia out of the woods, all of them with guns drawn. Carol couldn't help but notice the way Patricia's hands shook with the gun in them, and felt a brief pang of... something. Regret, maybe, or even pity. She had held a gun like that once, long before when Ed had forced her to shoot a spruce grouse. _You need to know what it feels like to kill something,_ he'd told her. _It'll make you strong. _If only he'd known.

"We're fine," Andrea answered, startling Carol from her thoughts. "We need to move," Andrea continued. "No telling what all that noise will bring here."

"Carl's in there, and Daryl," Lori interrupted, her eyes wide. "I don't know who else." She raised her voice, loud enough that Carol would have flinched were the situation not so desperate. "Carl, honey, are you okay?"

Rick took in the sight of the dead piled at the door and his own breath quickened. "We need to get those moved," he said needlessly. "Hershel, Glenn, T-Dog, start moving them. Maggie, you and Andrea need to get as many supplies as you can packed up into the cars. We need to move soon." Carol saw them nod, taking in the desperation of their situation. They dispersed quickly, each to their own assigned task.

Carol ran around to the passenger's door, keeping a close eye on where Rick had already begun organizing people to move the dead out of the doorway. Lori was already talking to Carl, trying to peer around the sagging door and the fallen bodies.

"I'm fine, mom," Carl was saying in that tone Carol had heard teenagers take when they'd been asked the same thing too many times. With a pang Carol remembered that she'd never be able to hear that tone from Sophia, had never heard it from Sophia before either. _Thoughts for later,_ she reminded herself. _Not now. Focus on the living, on what you have left_.

"No one was bit, but Daryl's bleeding bad. He tore up his leg again." Carol could hear a mumbled protest from Daryl in response to Carl's tattling, but it was slurred and too weak to make out, and that worried her even more.

"Beth! What about Beth?" Maggie was there suddenly, throwing a body off the pile as she unintentionally pushed Carol aside, trying to make her way into the trailer to see for herself what had happened to her sister. Glenn held her back when she showed every intention of crawling over the dead to get inside, grabbing her around the waist and making soothing noises into her hair.

"I don't know," Carl admitted, his voice losing its confidence. He sounded like the little boy he actually was again. "She and Jimmy, they went… um, away." He sounded sheepish and mortified at the same time, too young to be able to talk about what Jimmy and Beth had gone off to do, but old enough to realize he'd likely just gotten them in trouble. It was such a normal, childish reaction that Carol almost giggled. She only just managed to stop herself, and realized maybe she wasn't handling this whole situation as well as she thought.

"You know where they went?" Hershel demanded, his voice grim as he pulled another body from the doorway. Carol recognized the tightness in his eyes, the small tremor in his hands. Worry for a missing child. Her heart ached for him. There was no pain like not knowing.

Carl shook his head mutely, head down as he stared at the gun he held in his hands. He didn't play with it, though Carol could see his hands twitch on occasion as though he longed to twirl it around to hide his discomfort, but he didn't. He'd been well trained, Carol thought, and grown up too fast. And what was this world now that guns and violence were something a child could handle, but sex and love weren't?

Her thoughts were interrupted yet again as Rick pulled the last of the bodies blocking the doorway. Suddenly, the stair was free and Carol registered Lori sweeping past her and stepping around the few bodies still littering the ground at the base of the trailer door as she swept Carl into her arms. Carl just hugged her back, and his "I'm fine, mom, I'm fine," was tinged with only a touch of teenage exasperation. Carol noticed that his hand, where he still clutched the gun, was white around the knuckles.

Carol followed more sedately, using the bar at the edge of the door to lever herself up and over the remaining bodies. Her heart was in her throat as she approached Daryl, lying prone on the floor of the camper. A trail of red from the door to the couch attested to the injury he'd done himself, as did the growing pool of red beneath his leg.

Daryl stirred weakly as Carol knelt next to him, feeling silly as her hands fluttered around him but couldn't choose a place to settle. He raised his head and looked at her with bleary eyes before his gaze shifted to the group working to clean up camp beyond what was left of the trailer door. "Took y'all long 'nough," he said, voice hoarse.

Carol wanted to gather him up in her arms and hold him, the relief that he was safe was almost a physical weight lifted from her. But she thought about the last time she'd tried to give him comfort, and held back.

Lori showed no such restraint. "Thank you," she breathed, swooping down and drawing him to her in a close hug, ignoring the way he flinched and tried to withdraw. "Thank you for keeping Carl safe."

Daryl tensed, then wiggled away from her, laying his head back against the cushions of the couch behind him with an exhausted sigh. "Told him to hide," he said, eyes closed. "Wouldn't do it. Boy's a good shot. Should keep that gun. Kept me safe as much as I did him."

"What about Madeline?" Lori asked, looking around.

Daryl tilted his head towards the bunks at the back of the trailer. "Hiding."

Carl nodded. "We told her to hide when we realized the RV was surrounded," he explained. "I should go get her, let her know we're safe. We told her not to come out until one of us came for her." He switched the safety on his gun to on before tucking it into his pants and heading towards the back of the trailer. Lori squeezed Daryl's shoulder before standing and following her son.

That left Carol and Daryl alone as Rick coordinated cleaning up the camp. She reached out to him slowly, her heart fluttering as she took in the pale cast to his skin, even as it was soaked in sweat. His skin was damp as she clutched his shoulder, shaking him slightly to get him to look at her. She felt bad for that, lord knew she did, especially when he jumped at her touch. It was nearly imperceptible, but she felt it in the tensing of his shoulder underneath her hand.

"Sorry," Carol apologized, keeping her voice low. "You were drifting. But we need to get your leg taken care of. You hurt anywhere else?"

_Are you bit? _her eyes asked, but she couldn't say it aloud.

Daryl blinked wearily at her before shaking his head. "Tore it again trying to get to the kids," he explained, voice rough. "And kicking one of those motherfuckers in the face. Ain't bit."

Carol didn't bother to hide her sigh of relief, and didn't worry about the way Daryl tensed as she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank god," she breathed, and didn't miss the way Daryl's lips quirked.

"Or Carl," he said. "Like I said before, boy's good with a gun. It's thanks to him we're all safe."

Carol chose discretion as the better part of valor and decided not to question what his definition of safe might be. Instead, she busied herself with his leg. Blood had seeped through his bandages to pool on the floor, and the flap of his jeans stuck to the vinyl when she pulled his leg into her lap to get a better look. She ignored the noise he made at the movement; Daryl was not one to take sympathy well.

She unwrapped the injury as gently as she could, grimacing when she saw what was underneath. Just as Daryl said, the cut had opened up again and while it was no longer bleeding freely, the area around the cut was an angry red, inflamed and aggravated by his movement. Several of the stitches had come loose as well, and the wound gaped open once again, oozing blood sluggishly.

Carol left Daryl's side long enough to stumble to the bathroom and pull out a pad from underneath the bathroom sink. Andrea and Maggie would probably be mad at her for it later, but she couldn't think of a better way to stop what was left of the bleeding. And Daryl didn't need to lose any more blood, Carol thought to herself. Not on top of everything else he'd been through over the last week.

The others were a flurry of action around her as she knelt beside Daryl, pressing the unwrapped pad hard against the wound in his leg. Carol barely registered the people stepping around her with armfuls of supplies from their makeshift camp hastily thrown into whatever would carry them, so she jumped when Hershel lay a hand on her shoulder and knelt down beside her.

"We need to stop the bleeding," she offered, unprompted, and Hershel only nodded grimly before reaching out to jostle Daryl's shoulder. Carol had been so intent on his leg she hadn't realized his eyes had slipped closed. Daryl blinked hazily at the man.

"We'll have you patched up again real soon, son," Hershel said. "But first, I need to know. Did you see which way Jimmy and Beth went?"

Daryl struggled upright, peering around Carol and out the door of the RV as if he could see the missing teens. "Were gone when I woke up," he admitted, voice rough. "Was just Carl and Madeline outside the camper when I heard the walkers."

Carol couldn't resist the urge to give him a quick hug, though she hated the way he tensed at her touch, and tried to pull away as she drew him to her. "You did good," she whispered, shooting a furtive glance at Hershel. "You kept Carl and Madeline safe."

"It'd be best if you let me work on him," Hershel said, abruptly. "I'm sure they could use your help outside packing up camp."

Carol nodded, giving Daryl's hand a quick squeeze as she rose to her feet. She wanted to say something to Hershel about how she knew what it felt like to be waiting on word for a missing child. How she wished that he never had to go through what she did, wondering whether that child was dead or alive. But she knew her platitudes would mean nothing, that the others' platitudes had been nothing more than empty words to her, so she just left, barely glancing at the bodies of the dead that had been piled beside the trailer as Rick and the others moved them out of the way of the trailer door.

Instead, she headed for Rick, who seemed to have moved on to directing the packing of their impromptu camp. "What still needs doing?" she asked.

Rick snorted, waving an arm out at the camp in general. "Everything," he answered flippantly. "Worry about packing up our food first. Get as much as you can into the RV."

Carol was heading towards the pile of goods that still remained around their campfire when a gunshot echoed from the edge of the woods, and she turned, dropping the set of dishes she carried as she unconsciously raised her gun. Jimmy ran out of the trees, pulling Beth along behind him. Carol's first emotion was relief, a heartfelt thanks that they were alive, that Hershel wouldn't have to go through what she had been forced to go through wondering about what had happened to her Sophia. The relief was quickly replaced by horror as Jimmy paused at the edge of the road, turning and firing blindly back into the woods. A fresh wave of walkers spilled out of the trees after them, and Carol gasped. T-Dog cursed beside her and started firing. Andrea didn't even bother with the cursing.

Rick was shouting orders, throwing the last of the dead bodies blocking the entrance of the RV to the ground. "Go, go!" he yelled, though he was barely audible over the cacophony of gunfire. "Fall back, into the RV! Move it!"

Pale faced, Lori rushed in, clutching Carl to her and drawing them both down into the front-facing kitchenette seat. Carol could see Lori through the open door, hugging Carl to her as she stared in horror at what was coming out of the woods. Hershel kept on working doggedly on Daryl's leg, and Patricia knelt beside him as she jumped through the open door.

Glenn fired a few quick shots before hopping into the RV and diving into the driver's seat. Maggie was hot on his tail, barely bothering to sit down in the passenger seat before she rolled down the window and started taking out more walkers. Carol found herself pushed in by T-Dog, who stopped firing long enough to give her a gentle shove towards the door. She pulled herself in, ignoring the steps, and found herself kneeling behind the driver's seat next to Daryl. She worriedly touched his face, alarmed at how cool and clammy he felt. She was even more alarmed by the fact that he didn't protest, just gazed blearily at the commotion going on around them.

Beth and Jimmy practically hurled themselves through the door, Jimmy knocking Daryl's outstretched leg, the bleeding leg, in their haste to scramble back out of the way. Daryl's face paled even further and he cursed, a thin, pain-filled sound that made Carol want to both smack Jimmy for his carelessness and hold Daryl to give him some comfort. But she did neither, because she knew it was an accident on Jimmy's part and that Daryl would never let her. Instead, she re-cocked her gun and watched the door.

Andrea and T-Dog followed closely on Jimmy and Beth's heels, quickly moving to the couch to get out of the way. Rick threw himself in after, yelling "Go, go, go!" as he braced himself against the kitchen sink, still firing out the door at the approaching walkers. He tried to close the door as Glenn fired the engine, but the door wobbled unsteadily on its broken hinges. It would be poor protection at best.

Glenn slammed the vehicle into reverse, then spun into a tight turn that had the still-extended stairs throwing off sparks where they scraped against the pavement. The door flopped open, and Carol had a glimpse of the hoard of walkers emerging from the trees and converging on their make-shift camp before it slammed shut again when Glenn straightened the RV. They sped off, the door flapping open and shut as Glenn drove the RV faster than he should be down the rough highway.

Daryl groaned next to her, curling over his ribs as the ancient shocks of the RV did little to cushion the ride. The gun slipped out of his limp fingers and slid towards the flapping door. It would have slipped out if Rick hadn't stopped it by stepping on it. This time Carol did give into temptation, reaching over and pulling Daryl to her. He didn't resist, falling against her side with another low moan, though she could feel the tenseness in him as he struggled against the pain of the ride.

"Once I get this bleeding slowed, we should get him off the ground," Hershel said, looking up concernedly at Daryl as he held a makeshift bandage in place over the reopened cut. Carol ran a hand through Daryl's hair, alarmed at the cool dampness she felt there. She nodded a shaky agreement, feeling Daryl tremble underneath her hands as he fought to stay quiet. Carol didn't blame him; she couldn't imagine how much it must hurt to be bounced around in what was little more than an aluminum tin around them.

Andrea made a grab for the door, holding it shut with one hand while she tied it in place with some twine and a screwdriver jammed through the broken hinge as a temporary fix. They'd need to make something more permanent when they felt safe enough to stop. Or at least when they had put more distance between themselves and their road-side camp. Not that it would help, Carol thought dismally. They're only safety was in running, and they couldn't run forever.

She looked around and saw her same fear reflected in the faces of the group. They'd all lost too many, too quickly and it was all they could do to hold on to those they loved, and those they'd come to love. Lori sat beside the window, her face pale and eyes wide, Carl and Madeline clutched to her side. Glenn gripped the wheel with white knuckles, shooting furtive glances in the RV's rear view mirror as he drove. Maggie perched on the edge of the passenger seat, her eyes sharp and watchful, shotgun across her lap. One hand clutched Glenn's knee as if to reassure herself that he was there. White faced and pale, Beth and Jimmy sat leaning against each other on the couch. Patricia had one hand braced against a cupboard for balance and laid the other on Hershel's shoulder as he worked on Daryl's leg. Even T-Dog had crouched down across from Carol on Daryl's other side, helping Carol cushion his ribs from the crumbling highway the RV's ancient shocks did nothing to smooth.

Only Andrea and Rick stood alone. The door secured, Andrea had taken up watch out the side window from the couch, her gun braced against the back of the couch and pointed out the window. Rick stood back in the narrow space between the bathroom and the closet, watching them all but not looking at a single one of them. Carol tried to meet his gaze, but the look in his eyes gave her a chill and she quickly glanced away. _Something isn't right here,_ she thought, turning back to Daryl. But then again, could anything ever be right in this crazy new world? Carol could only wish she had more faith that one day it could.

TBC...


End file.
